The Trade of Kings
by artistic mishap
Summary: James recalls the war - the battles, the grief, but mostly, mostly the woman he just can't purge from his system, not even now. Sequel to "Skin and Bone".
1. Prologue

_****Here we go - the sequel to _Skin and Bone. _If you haven't read that, I would heartily suggest it because the entire foundation of this story is there. If you have read it, keep your eyes peeled for a few nods to the original. Hope you enjoy! Please leave any comments or suggestions - I always appreciate feedback of any kind._

* * *

_**Prologue**_

It's six years after the Reaper war when she comes.

James is alone as per usual on Sundays. He's stripped to the waist, beating out his excess energy on his punching bag, sweat pouring down his body. He's only thirty-four – young still, in the grand scheme of things, and don't you forget it – but his one arm hasn't stopped giving him trouble since the war. Too much exertion, not enough downtime. It reminds him of Shepard, how she used to always roll one shoulder or other, bruised but never beaten and too goddamned stubborn to sit down. The thought makes him smile even as a pang of loss ripples through him. Those were amazing and horrible times and God, he shouldn't miss them as much as he does.

Earth is doing better, but it's nowhere near the place it used to be. Still, trade is good, and when James looks out his window, the destruction is slowly being replaced by a better, brighter future. This is what they fought for, and James, hell, he's damned proud he's come this far to see it, no question. Hard to believe that not so long ago, those streets were lined with rubble and worse. He tries not to think of it, but those fucking thoughts have a way of worming their way in.

He's never been real good at shore leave. As much as he hates to admit it, he was at his best during that war. Now, he mostly cruises about playing space cop and tagging terrorists. It's good work, no denying it, but things were so much simpler when it was just the Reapers. Back then, all he had to do was point and shoot. Now, there's all this responsibility and shit, this constant worry that what they've saved is just all going to crumble into ash again.

Some days, he wants to ask Shepard how she did it, but, well...

When the doorbell rings, he grabs a towel from a nearby chair and pulls it down his face. He wonders idly if he should throw on a shirt, but this is his house and it's not like it's a bad view. He tosses the towel on the couch, knowing the flack he's going to get later but what certain people don't know won't hurt them. He makes sure his pistol is prepped on the table next to the door. He could use that fancy ass security system, but after a week of shore leave, he's itching for a fight. _Come and get it, bastards, _he thinks to the universe.

Only, it's not some tough as nails merc behind the door, or even some twinkle toes assassin. His breath catches at the sight of those all too familiar blue eyes, and he has to force his heart to beat regularly. He crosses his arms, feeling naked, but his jaw is clenched tight.

"Uh, hi," she says, voice soft and sweet like that bird that likes to nest up on the roof and wake James at four in the goddamned morning. Her hands are clasped around a leather bag, hands clenched. "I'm -"

"Shepard's kid, yeah," says James, with a short nod. "I remember."

"Dahlia," clarifies the girl – no, woman. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been a stringy 16 year old, all awkward angles, come to see Shepard at Alliance HQ. He'd looked at her and seen, in some small way, what Shepard must've looked like that young. Now, she's grown into her own identity. She still looks like Shepard, yeah, there's no escaping that, but the similarities are lost in the details. This woman, she's soft and willowy in a way her mom never quite mastered, and lacks the hard lines and smooth muscles that come with being a marine. In another life, he might've been interested, but now? No. No chance.

In the time since the war, this woman could've made a million credits selling out her story – no, not hers, Commander Shepard's story – to the press. About how Shepard had gotten pregnant at a young age. About how she'd given up her baby daughter and gone on to become a hero. There were a thousand different angles. She hadn't, and James would be eternally grateful. Hell, until recently, he'd just figured her for dead – there were enough people that had simply vanished following the mess with Reapers.

But she makes James more uncomfortable than he's been in ages. He shifts his weight from one leg to another. "Something I can help you with?"

"I," says Dahlia, eyes downward. "I want an outsider's opinion of Commander Shepard. I want to know what she was like during the war, not just what the vids say. I tracked down anyone I could find. Sent messages clear across the galaxy. A few of them came back. I replies, but even though some of them shared stories, they mostly said the same thing." Now she turns those eyes on him, and the hair on the back of James' neck stands up because it's fucking uncanny how similar that intensity is to Shepard's. "Talk to Commander Vega."

He curses Scars and Sparks and Doc and all the rest of them for doing this to him. They _know_ he's not too great with words. This would explain Scar's recent ambiguous message about _having company_. If James ever sees that smug turian bastard, it's _on_.

"You wanna come in?" he says, moving to the side. Dahlia ducks her head and moves past him and into the house, taking in the locked weapons cabinet, the exercise area, the various medals and commendations placed on the mantle. He gestures her to the sofa, where she sinks down, bag at her feet and continues to peer around with undisguised curiosity. James doesn't like it, doesn't like feeling like he's on fucking display, like some animal in a zoo only there are few enough zoos left now. "You want a beer?"

She shakes her head, but just because she's declined doesn't mean that _he_ can't have one. He pulls a bottle from the fridge and pops off the cap, tossing it in the sink. He grabs a shirt from where he tossed it on window bench and puts it back on, before padding back into the living room, sinking into his chair and slumping down. He takes a swig. The silence makes him uneasy.

"So," he says, "what do you want to know?"

"Everything," says Dahlia.

And there's no fucking way in hell _that's_ happening, because, well, he'd have a hard enough time telling some of his closest friends some of the juicier details, never mind this, this _girl_ who's also Shepard's daughter and, well, no, just no. Still, his mouth quirks at what Shepard would say if he started divulging some of the more private bits. He says, "You're going to have to be more specific than that."

God, she even chews on her lip like Shepard. The whole thing is just weird. She sneaks small glances at him and says, "Well, you were her guard while she was on trial, right?"

James nods and takes another sip from his bottle. "That's me."

"Maybe start there?" she offers, firing up the record feature on her omni-tool.

But he doesn't want to start there, because those months were a straight line of boredom with the occasional interjection of confused emotions. By the time the Reapers attacked, he and Shepard had already gotten closer than was technically allowed – not that they were best friends who knew each other's every secret, but he'd seen her as more than just some (admittedly hot) face on the vids and she'd seen him as more than a simple Lieutenant with his head up his ass. Not that he'd done much to prove otherwise, if he were being honest.

"Not much happened," he says, and from an outside perspective, it's true.

Dahlia seems to sense his hesitancy because she sighs. "Listen, Commander Vega, if you don't want to talk about this, I'm not going to make you. Lots of people don't after – well, _after_." And though the rest of her sentence goes unsaid, they both know what she means. The war wasn't pretty, or even heroic. It was bloody, brutal, violent – and that had only culminated when Shepard used that Crucible to blow the shit out of the Reapers.

James sighs and leans forward, cradling his beer between his hands. "No, fuck, no. It's not that."

Emotion slices across Dahlia's face. "You loved her," she says, voice alight with sad understanding.

He allows himself to chuckle. "Get rid of that past tense and you're bang on, _chiquita_," he says.

"I didn't know."

"Then I have to be doing something right," he says. He places his beer on the table and twines his hands together. "Now, I guess the only place to start is at the beginning, right? When those Reaper fuckers invaded our planet." He takes a deep breath. "Shepard and I, we were something like friends at Alliance HQ. Can't spend that much time around another person without being a little friendly. Then the invasion happened, and, well, let's just say things got real complicated real fast."

Which is a nice way of saying that everything went to hell in a fucking handbag.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **Earth is attacked and James' first mission with Shepard does not go as planned.


	2. 1: That Book Which is my Memory

_Chapter title is from Dante. Thank you so much to those who are reading and/or reviewing. Now we get into the grit of the story.  
_

* * *

_**Chapter One: That Book Which is my Memory**_

_Ms. Misra,_

_ I thought I might be hearing from you. I wasn't sure when, or under what circumstances, but these things have a way of working themselves out. Though Shepard never mentioned you, my work led me to discover your existence some time ago. I never brought it up with her – there was never an appropriate time, there was always a new emergency, and, I confess, I didn't want to admit to snooping in her private affairs, however true it might be._

_ You want an friends's opinion on Shepard – I can understand that. I could write whole books on her character, on her bravery, her compassion, her skill... But I never will, for much the same reason I never talked about you. Even to those that know her best, there are bits of Shepard that will never be fully understood or realized. Whether she built this wall on purpose or not is anyone's guess, but I have no intention of tearing it down. After all she did for us, it's the least I can do._

_ Suffice it to say, that if you've inherited even a modicum of what she is, the galaxy is better for having you in it._

_ Beyond that, I can't in good conscience say any more. If you wish for a more in-depth perspective on Shepard, especially during the Reaper War, might I suggest Commander James Vega? It is my understanding that they had a unique relationship following her incarceration. Even Shepard could not object to his telling you what he knows._

_ All the best,_

_ Liara T'Soni_

**o-o-o**

James couldn't say with any authority that he _knew_ Commander Shepard. That much was becoming increasingly obvious with every lightyear they flew away from Earth. Sure, he and she had been on good terms back when she'd been under arrest, but what he didn't know back then was that although her rank had reared its head every so often, that woman hadn't been Commander Shepard, no siree. All those times he'd been put in his place with a curt word or sharp glance? Preparation for this mission, so far as he was concerned.

The second those Reaper bastards started falling out of the sky, his adrenaline had been rushing. With every one of those creepy ass husks he shot, it rose higher and higher. By the time he boarded the _Normandy_ with the Major, he was fucking pumped to take that ship and shoot some Reapers the hell off his planet. You know, until Shepard had walked in, face grim, and announced that they were leaving, like it was time for a damned vacation.

"Anderson told me to leave, to take the _Normandy_, to go get help," she said. "So that's what I'm going to do."

"Bullshit!" he replied. "Anderson wouldn't order that."

Shepard barely glanced at him. "He just did. He knows this war is already lost if we don't go get help."

It was like he was some sort of pressure cooker, and the timer just dinged. Here she was, his fucking hero since before he could even remember, the ballsiest person in the galaxy, and she was running away like a coward. Well, James wasn't about to be a part of it. "Forget it," he snapped. "Drop me off someplace because -" What he meant to say was _because I'm not leaving_, but he didn't get a chance because the next second Shepard was all up in his face, expression angrier than he'd ever seen.

"Don't you think I'd rather stay and fight?" she said, voice steely. "We're going to the Citadel to get help. Period. If you don't like it, you can catch a shuttle from there."

James had done something macho, like... walked away, and somehow, they ended up here. On Mars. With a dust storm coming. To look for God knew what. To say that he was less than impressed with his current predicament would be a huge understatement. The only thing keeping him going through the mission was the thought that the sooner they got off this rock, the sooner they could hit up the Citadel and the sooner he could be on his way home to blow those Reaper shits out of the sky.

He and the Major fell in behind Shepard. They came to a bend and see Alliance soldiers surrounded by Cerberus troops. He couldn't see Shepard face, but he heard the strain in her voice when she said, "Wait here."

She fizzled out of existence, and only her footsteps in the soft Martian soil gave her away until she comes to an outcropping of rock. James' hands tightened on the barrel of his assault rifle as he peeked out around his cover. Every bone in his body was telling him to start shooting, but he held and he was glad for it when he saw that Cerberus' head explode like a watermelon in summer. He and the Major took that as their cue to start firing as well, but every time James got a lock on a hostile, that hostile's head was suddenly missing. What the hell kind of ammo was Shepard using?

One Cerberus trooper came close to Shepard so that she has to vault backwards, but she twirled like a dancer and swung open her omni-blade, catching him with a current of electricity that left him seizing until the breath went out of him. Upon feeling his gaze on her, Shepard turned to him and there was a smile in her voice, "Isn't it great? Got her fully operational."

During her time in custody, Shepard had given him that little prototype to test for her. He had, on the down low, reporting his findings. After giving her what she needed, he'd switched back to the standard issue blade. He like slicing way more than he liked frying, personally.

"What the hell was that?" asked the Major.

"Just a little something I cooked up a while back," offered Shepard, reloading her rifle with a new thermal clip. She gestures with her head to both of them, and starts forward.

"I wasn't talking about your blade," said the Major, sounding grumpy. "I meant about Cerberus. What are they doing here?"

"Beats me," said Shepard.

"You don't know?"

"Why the hell would I?"

"You worked for them, for God's sake." The Major was nearly growling in frustration.

He knew there was a mission, and he knew that of the three of them, he was the lowest on the food chain, but damn if he wasn't starting to seriously dislike Major Alenko. Sure, he himself was pissed at Shepard, but that was totally different. He wondered, not for the first time in the last few hours, exactly what the relationship between the two of them was. Shepard was more focused, more confident than she'd been in custody, but the Major was showing some serious trust issues at the moment that didn't look all that present back on Earth.

The three of them loaded onto the elevator. As the door hissed shut, Shepard took off her helmet, shaking her head free of sweat. She levelled an annoyed look at the Major. "I worked with them to take down the Collectors, that's it. I don't know anything more than that. Hell, I stole their ship and billed them for thousands of credits. It was a nasty divorce. Trust me when I say that we're no longer friends."

"What do you expect me to think?" The Major had taken off his helmet and was now leaning against the rail.

It was clear that Major Douchebag didn't know Shepard as well as he thought. This, for some reason, made James want to puff up like a peacock. Or, failing that, made him want to punch the Major in the face. If he had any idea what Shepard went through with those Cerberus bastards, well, he'd be singing another song entirely. Of course, if James were to rip out his windpipe, he wouldn't be singing much of anything. The image of a naked body filled with wires and tubes, gasping for breath, more skeleton than human but with swinging blue eyes... James could look at Shepard and see that she wasn't that, not anymore, but Cerberus, they _did_ that to her.

With all the things he had planned out to say, what he said was, "The Commander was under heavy surveillance on Earth. No way communications got through without us knowing." He punched a new thermal clip into his own gun for emphasis.

The Major didn't look convinced, not even when Shepard added, "You know me. You know I'd only have done it for the right reasons. Please trust me." The elevator slowed to a stop at the top, and she took point again, gun ready.

"I _do_ trust you," started the Major, sounding like a whiny kid, but all that was put on pause when sound filtered through the air ducts. Without being told, they all ducked behind a vehicle, watching for hostiles. James couldn't see much – Shepard got to peer around not him – but he heard a few shots and then nothing. Shepard stood and rounded the corner, and, still used to having her back, James followed, ready to blow away some Cerberus grunts.

Only it wasn't a Cerberus grunt, it was an asari. Shepard placed her hand on James' weapon and pushed down, smiling. "At ease, LT. She's with us." She strode forward, arms outstretched, and took the other woman into a hug. The asari looked frazzled but pleased to see the Commander, and the small part of James' brain that was still functioning at a higher level told him that this must be Doctor Liara T'Soni. Mostly, he couldn't get over the fact that Shepard was voluntarily showing affection.

Of course, happy reunions didn't last that long, and he was more than ready. Shepard stole most of his kills outside, and now he was ready to make good on his desire for battle. That was, until Shepard put him in the corner.

"Not this time, James," she said, and her using his name was like a slap in the face. So off he went on his own, back to the shuttle. He kicked that damned door open and sat in the pilot's seat, watching the sensors track the storm. He leaned back, hands behind his head, sweating in his armour and desperately wishing he were inside. If he couldn't be back on Earth, he could at least be watching Shepard's back and taking out a few Cerberus thugs in the meanwhile. But no, she's with an asari civilian and an old – what? Friend? James mentally scoffed at the idea – that didn't trust her. It was like the idea for a bad sitcom.

"Got shelved by Shepard, huh?" said a voice over the comm, and he recognized it from months before as Jeff Moreau.

"Yeah," he said, letting that one word carry all his annoyance.

"Tough break," said Moreau lightly. "If it's any consolation, you're not missing out on much. Probably some horrific experiments with a splash of murder thrown from the bucket of intrigue."

"Lucky me," said James flatly.

"Man, no wonder she took you aboard. You're as twitchy for battle as she is."

James resisted the urge to tell this guy that actually, Shepard hadn't technically taken him anywhere, the Major had, because he was too caught up in what might've been a compliment. Didn't matter anyways, 'cause a few seconds later the comm turned to static and no matter how many buttons he pushed, he couldn't get the _Normandy_ back. So he tried Shepard, asking for her location. Unfortunately, the storm had gotten close enough that she wasn't able to hear him properly. He drummed his fingers on the dash before deciding, to hell with this, he was going to take to the air and see what he could see.

And it was lucky for him that he did, because only a few minutes later Shepard was hollering for help. Purpose, and a fresh dose of anger, drove him forward, slamming his own shuttle into the fleeing Cerberus transport before dropping her down near the Commander. Shepard marched around the corner as he was exiting and clapped him on the shoulder. "You all right?"

"Course," he said, grinning at her.

The corner of her mouth quirked only slightly. "That wasn't really what I had in mind."

He shrugged. "I improvised."

Shepard opened her mouth to say something, but it was cut short by the scream from T'Soni. She was off before James could even muster a thought, pistol drawn. He heard shots fired and got his own rifle ready, following her lead but by the time he was in sight of the creepy robot lady, she'd already gone down and Shepard was running towards the Major like her life depended on it. The Major didn't look so hot, black and blue bruises spread over his face. Shepard ran her hands over his face, trying to get his attention but to no avail. She hoisted the Major up over her shoulders and nodded to him.

"Get that thing on the ship," she said with a fierce gesture towards the robot.

No problem, though James, proving once again that he was an idiot. The thing weighed more than Shepard, probably, and where only seconds before he'd wondered if maybe he should take the Major and Shepard should take the metal body, he now saw the wisdom of her choice. He followed her aboard the _Normandy_, up the elevator and to the medbay, where she dropped the Major carefully on one of the cots and stood there, biting her lip. It was a gesture James knew well, and she pulled it out whenever she was stuck inside her own head.

He'd never seen her look so distraught, though, her eyes scanning the Major's limp form until T'Soni jumped in and practically ordered Shepard to the Citadel. His estimation of the asari rose several notches.

He wasn't formally dismissed, but from the way Shepard was running around, he was sure he wasn't going to be needed anymore. He went back to the cargo bay in time to see – holy shit, was that Estaban? - inspecting the kodiak. The other man glanced up, eyes alighting on James, and gave a sort of amused but weary grin.

"Should've known this would be your work, Mr. Vega," he said, walking forward with his hand outstretched, seemingly unsurprised to see his former crew.

"You know me," said James, clasping the hand with his own and pulling the man into a friendly embrace. "Can never miss a chance to do a little damage."

"Good to see you're all right." Estaban's brows fell over his eyes. "Pretty hairy down there, huh?"

"Wouldn't know." James set about taking off his armour. He sat down on a crate, removing his boots.

"You pouting?"

"No, I ain't pouting," snapped James, fumbling with his greaves. He tossed them aside and hunkered down, dipping his head. "I just – I woke up this morning, and I was on Earth, you know? And then those giant squid bastards came falling outta the sky, and what does Shepard do? She hightails it the hell out of there! That's my home, man."

"Yeah, I get you," said Estaban, leaning against a crate. "But this is Commander Shepard. You know that she's going to do whatever's necessary, right? I mean, back when we were stationed together, didn't you used to bitch and moan about how great it would be to work on her crew? Now's your chance."

"She says we gotta go to the Citadel to get help." James couldn't quite keep himself from sounding moody.

"And has she given you any reason to doubt her?"

"Well, no," fumbled James, and he suddenly felt like a little shit. There he was, berating Major Alenko for not trusting Shepard when he was just as guilty. He snapped off his breastplate and it clanged to the ground. "Damn, Estaban. Anyone ever tell you you're good at this pep talk shit?"

A nostalgic smile crept onto Estaban's face. "More than a few times." He clapped James on the shoulder and started back towards the kodiak.

"Hey Estaban," called James, waiting until the other man turned to look. "Thanks, man."

Estaban only shrugged and kept walking. James got out of the rest of his gear, stowing it in an unclaimed locker. He dropped his gun on the weapon's bench and slowly set about cleaning his weapon. This, at least, was something he was good at, something he liked doing. He could disassemble the thing and get rid of all his thoughts and worries. He almost didn't notice when a pair of footsteps approached and a sniper rifle was suddenly dropped next to him.

Focused only on her rifle, Shepard took the thing apart in under a minute.

James opened his mouth to, okay, maybe not apologize, but _something. _She cut him off with a raised hand. "Don't, Lieutenant. I need to think." He tried not to wince at the realization that they were back to ranks instead of names. Never let it be said that he wasn't a good soldier, though, so he kept up his cleaning while he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She finished long before him, her gun pristine, and she put it in her locker before leaving without a second glance.

He thought he'd met the Commander months ago, but he was wrong. That woman who just left, _that_ was Commander Shepard. James just wished he could figure out how come he felt like he'd just lost something other than his planet.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **James gets to see what Shepard does best.


	3. 2: Upwards Into a Burning Sky

_**Chapter Two: Upwards Into a Burning Sky  
**_

_It's a weird day when you get a letter from your best friend's daughter – a daughter that you didn't even know she had. But it doesn't really surprise me that much. Okay, it surprises me that Shepard had a baby – it doesn't surprise me that she never told me about it. We shared a lot, but when it all came down to it, we were just two soldiers who were more comfortable talking rifle upgrades and tactical manoeuvres than personal feelings. _

_ What you should know about Shepard is that I mean what I say: she's hands down the best friend I'll ever have. She came for me when I didn't have a single other person in the galaxy, gave me purpose, let me grow into myself. I still remember being a star-struck C-Sec agent, meeting her for the first time. Back then, it wasn't even so much her that impressed me, it was that she was a Spectre. That changed real quick. _

_ After the Normandy SR1 went down, I did too for a long while. I tried to mould myself into her image, and found myself failing time and again. When she found me, she showed me that I didn't have to be her, probably _shouldn't_ be her, that I could get by on my own merit no matter what others thought. There's no denying that I wouldn't be half the man I am today, if not for her._

_ But no matter how different we managed to be, she was always someone I could laugh with. As happy as I am for peace, that's what I miss most about the war – running and gunning with Shepard. _

_ You want a person to talk to? Find Jimmy Vega. He saw a completely different side to Shepard. Might have something interesting to say. Oh, and tell him I'm still waiting to see his flying harvester, and if he can't produce it, he still owes me 50 credits. _

_ G. Vakarian _

**o-o-o**

It wasn't grudging, the respect he felt as he picked up the ground. Looking at her without knowing who she was, yeah, you'd think Shepard could handle herself, no question – but James knew he was probably twice her weight, and had grown accustomed to people being wary of him. To be fighting with her, to hear her throw out that _oh, I can dance_ line with such obvious anticipation, well, that he didn't expect.

In hindsight, it made sense. Just because she'd been pretty mellow during her stay in Vancouver didn't mean shit. She'd stayed put because she had to, not because it was her natural state of being. James got that. It had been the same for him.

He'd thrown his punch, but she suddenly wasn't there and she caught him again in the face. He'd stumbled back, unable to classify what he was feeling. Why had he told her about Captain Toni? About his crew? About the Collectors? And why did she care? There was a glint of that woman he'd met, who could wisecrack and flirt with the best of them when she wanted to, and he hadn't known how much he missed it. Maybe that was why, between punches, he opened up to her as much as he'd opened up to anyone, brass included.

"If you're half as good as I think you are," Shepard said, voice breathy, "we need you alive."

Hands on knees, he catches his breath, looking up at her. Goddamn, but she looks barely winded, crossing her arms in front of her and regarding him. Only the faint flush of her cheeks gave her away. She used that look a lot on him when they first met, but this was the first he'd seen of it in quite some time.

"Thanks for the pep talk," he said.

She held out her arms and rotated her shoulders. "Anytime," she said breezily.

James stood up in time to watch her walking away. "Hey," he called, and she turned back, hip cocked with one eyebrow raised. "Thanks for the dance, Lola."

"Lola?" She was kinda cute when quizzical. It wasn't a look he usually saw on her.

He shrugged, trying to play it cool. "You look like a Lola."

Snorting, she said, "Uh huh." She was inside the elevator when she spoke again. "Be ready to hit Palaven in two hours, James."

_James_. He grabbed a rag from his workbench and wiped at his nose. It hurt, but not too bad. Shepard obviously wanted to keep him in fighting shape. She hadn't seemed particularly concerned about herself, though.

For some reason, he couldn't get those flushed cheeks out of his mind – and he'd called her _Lola_, a nickname that had occurred to him months before when he'd seen her in a dress for the first and only time. It brought to mind Carlos' older sister, from when he was young, and how at twelve he'd thought Lola in a dress was the hottest thing he'd ever seen. Oh, how his twelve year old mind had run away with him. Many a shower had been spent with her in mind.

And now, shit, he'd given the name to Shepard. Not that it wasn't accurate – god, was it accurate. There'd been a time when he was sure he would never be able to fantasize about Shepard, but that notion had crashed and burned. Now that he wasn't pissed at her for leaving Earth, he was free to reflect on those thoughts as he saw fit, even if he spent the better part of most days stamping it down. He'd believed (mistakenly) that he had it under control, but if his current frame of mind was any indication, he wasn't even close.

It was different when they were on, okay not equal but _almost_ equal footing in Vancouver. Now she was his CO. She'd wanted professionalism during her time as a detainee – he could only expect the same now. But she hadn't protested the nickname...

He was going to drive himself _loco_ thinking about this.

So instead he made sure his gun was ready, and his armour, and when they boarded the shuttle, he was prepared for anything. Okay, anything except the boatloads of creepy husks, the planet on fire, and the fact that they had to hike their way to the fucking base only to find out the Primarch guy was already dead. James officially hated this fucking war.

The turian in charge of the outpost had introduced himself as _General Corinthus_, and James was sure he wasn't the only one who saw how Shepard started at the name, holding onto his hand a bit longer than was strictly polite. He glanced at Doc, who hadn't missed it and was now looking at Shepard with something darker than curiosity. Remembering herself, Shepard had snatched back her hand, flexing it as the General talked about how the comm tower was out so nobody knew who the hell was in charge.

"We'll take care of it," said Shepard with forced casualness. "But, I have to ask – was your father an ambassador on Earth, by any chance?"

Corinthus' eyes widened, then narrowed. "How did you know that?"

Shepard's face was a strange mix of embarrassed and determined. "We met, once. He showed me a picture of you." Something passed between them then, something James couldn't even hope to guess at even knowing as much as he did about Shepard's past. Her time on Earth was something that still held a lot of holes, even after her trial. None of the records made any mention of it, except that she had some purported gang ties in her younger years – and from the extranet search he'd done after her foster mother mentioned the _Reds_, well, he couldn't fathom how a turian ambassador and a teenage Shepard had anything in common.

Then Shepard said, "I'm going to save your planet, General. Count on it."

Corinthus didn't look convinced. "If you say so."

And that was that. Off he, Shepard and Doc went to fix the comm tower. Watching Shepard in action, it was like, damn, James didn't know. A force of nature? Those husks kept falling from the sky and she kept picking them off before they'd get a chance to shamble half a meter. The one time she managed to get flanked, a husk clinging to her, she wrestled the damn thing off and applied her boot to its head, grinning with sadistic satisfaction when it erupted like a water balloon. He couldn't help himself from grinning back.

When they came back, they weren't greeted just by the General, but also by another turian. James swore, Shepard's face brightened by several degrees on seeing the (to James) surly guy with admittedly wicked scars. They clasped hands like old friends.

"James," said Shepard, "meet Garrus Vakarian. Second best shot in the whole damn galaxy."

"Second?" asked Garrus, sounding nearly offended. "Surely you don't mean I got beat out by some human who can't even hit an engineer at three hundred paces."

"I hit him," countered Shepard, hands on her hips. "He just had his fucking tech shields up so high it was a wonder he wasn't fried like an egg on a hot day."

Garrus blinked at her. "I only understood half of what you said, and it still stunk of an excuse."

This Garrus guy, he was okay. Just going off Shepard, he was sure that he and the turian were going to get along. And from her file, the turian had Shepard's back through it all – through Saren, through the Collectors, and from the look of it, now through the Reapers. And maybe it was stupid of him, but anyone loyal enough to stand by a friend even while her name was dragged through the mud, well, that's the sort of person James couldn't help but admire.

He expected Shepard to retort something, but she was too busy grinning quietly to herself. Garrus held out a hand and James shook it. "Nice to meet you, sir," he said, deciding to be polite for right now.

"Sir?" Garrus glanced over at Shepard who shrugged. "Is it just me Shepard, or are we getting old?"

"Speak for yourself," she said. "I was dead for two years. Those don't count."

The banter was interrupted by Corinthus who had the name of the new Primarch: Adrien Victus. Garrus brought a hand to his face. "I know him," said the turian. "He has a habit of playing fast and loose with accepted strategy. Reminds me of this rogue Spectre I used to run with."

"He's hired," said Shepard. "Where is he?"

In the middle of fucking nowhere, is where. While Doc went back to work on some buggy system on the _Normandy_, Garrus – now officially dubbed _Scars_ – joined up with he and Shepard which suited James just fine. Not the he didn't like Doc; her biotics were fucking amazing and she was more than a fair shot. But she wasn't military. Being surrounded by fellow soldiers made him feel at home. That these soldiers were so acquainted with each other they could predict each other's moves didn't hurt. A weird looking husk almost came at him before someone overloaded its shields and was followed by a plasma round that caused the bastard to catch fire and flail flail until James put a bullet in its brain.

"Those husks," he called, "they look sorta like turians, don't they?"

"Yeah," said Shepard, voice tight. "They do."

The mood dropped after that. Whatever joy Shepard and Scars felt at seeing each other again was squashed by the sight of that planet burning up. After Corinthus gave them this Victus' coordinates, they set off across half the damned moon. Shepard asked how the war on Palaven was going, to which Scars gave some truly staggering statistics. Millions dead, military in ruin. Shepard went tight around the eyes, the grip on her gun a little tighter than was strictly necessary.

"If only they'd listened to you," said Scars, "we might have been more prepared."

Shepard made a noncommittal hum, but James could see the tension between her soldiers. "They believe me now," she said.

"Yeah," agreed Scars with a breathy laugh. "Do you think it'll feel good to throw _I told you so_ in the Council's face?"

If it were James, he'd have said _hell yeah. _He would go the Council, hopefully with the head of some dead husk, drop it at their feet and let that be that. Maybe that was why Shepard was the Spectre and he wasn't, even though from talking to Joker, he got the impression that Shepard hadn't always played nice. Joker made a few impressions of her hanging up on the Council during the hunt for Saren, and James had nearly pissed himself from laughing.

Shepard wasn't laughing. She wasn't even close. She was too busy watching that circle of fire on Palaven above. "No," she said. "Not with that."

He wished then that they everyone had fucking believed Shepard when it counted. So that Earth would be safe, so that Palaven would be safe, but really, so that she wouldn't have that terrible blank expression on her face.

When, he wondered, had he become such a sap?

They approached the camp where Victus was supposed to be, Shepard leading the troop, but at the sound of gunfire, they readied their weapons and charged into the fray. They shot down husk after husk, and James didn't even feel a little bad, knowing they were once people. Whatever they were before, they weren't anything like human beings now. So far as he was concerned, he was doing them a kindness.

He paused in his fire as he felt the ground shake, and he turned to see one of those huge brutes charging Shepard. He expected her to backpedal, to run, but she didn't. She charged right at the thing, feet pumping, and when it lifted its meaty hand to swipe at her, she wasn't there. She skidded underneath the thing, her omni-tool flaring as she hit him with another plasma round. The thing shrieked, its body rippling with flame, and it still rounded on Shepard, who was now sprinting for cover. James pulled a grenade from his chest and lobbed it at the thing, its weird flesh bursting over the field.

"Nice one," called Shepard.

"Me?" cried James, leaning out of cover to spray a few husks. "What about you? You got some balls, Lola."

"You didn't think I made it all this way on my good looks, did you James?" He could hear the smile in her voice.

"No, ma'am!"

A husk went down missing its head, and then another. "Garrus, I can't tell – was that an insult?" she called.

James' throat went dry, but he didn't have a chance to say anything before he was beaten to the punch.

"Sounded like he didn't think much of your appearance," confirmed Scars, the husks around him sizzling with electricity as the turian overloaded their internal circuitry. "Not that I blame him. You humans are so squishy."

Shepard laughed. "That reminds me! I've got a vid you need to watch."

"Why don't I like the sound of that?" One of the humanoid husks got too close to Scars, and the turian ripped its throat out with his talons before emptying his clip into that creepy blue chest.

There was no reply, because another of the brutes appeared. Shepard hopped out of position and scurried to higher ground, balancing her pistol on the curve of the hill in front of her. James could only mentally shake his head at her, especially when her bullet hit the thing square in the face. Even under fire, ice slowly started to scale down the brute's limbs. Cryo rounds, realized James. Beside him, Scars let off a concussive round and those limbs cracked. James jimmied his rifle into the proper setting and let fly, his shot shattering the brute on impact.

No more husks were forthcoming, and he spent a moment collecting his breath. The low oxygen on the planet was killer, though Shepard didn't seem to notice it at all, loping down the hill towards them. Her eyes scanned Scars first, then him, and she gave him a smile and nod so shallow, he wasn't sure he saw them at all before her back was to him. She strode into the camp, coming up to the group.

"I'm looking for General Victus," she said.

One turian broke away from the rest. Even though he wasn't human, you could still see from his bearing that this wasn't just some ordinary soldier. "I'm Victus," he said.

"I'm Commander Shepard of the _Normandy_," said Shepard without preamble. "You're needed off planet. I've come to get you."

"Me? It'll take something beyond important to get me to leave my men, or turian brothers and sisters, in their fight."

James already liked this guy.

"Fedorian was killed," chimed in Scars. "You're the new Primarch."

"We need you to chair a summit and lead your people against the Reapers," said Shepard, and then after reflection, added, "Please."

Now, James had never been all that great at reading alien expressions – asari aside, 'cause no matter what anyone said, they were totally almost human – but he could see the shock on the general's face. The guy walked away from them, turning to that burning spot in the sky. "I'm – I'm Primarch of Palaven?"

"Yes," said Shepard, going to join him.

"I'm no diplomat. I hate diplomats."

"Any particular reason you don't think you're qualified?" asked Shepard.

"I'm not really a _by the book _kind of guy. And I piss people off," said Victus.

"You sound perfect," said Shepard. "You know what it takes to win a war and you're not going to let the diplomats bullshit each other until we're all dead. You're exactly what we need."

Actually, James thought he sounded pretty much like Shepard. Hard to imagine a galaxy with _two_ Shepards, and the fact that one of them was this gravelly voiced turian general? If he were a Reaper, he'd be sleeping a little less soundly from now on. You know, if Reapers slept. They didn't, right?

Victus clasped his hands behind his back. "I like the sound of that, Just... Just let me say goodbye to my men." He brushed past all three of them without a backwards glance.

Knowingly or not, Shepard mirrored him, her hands clasped behind her back as she stared up at Palaven. She was stony. That, right there, was why James had never, and still couldn't figure her out. One moment, it was jokes and the next it was stoicism. He'd tried separating them into groups, one being Leigh Shepard and the other being Commander Shepard, but seeing her fight in between traded barbs, he didn't even know if that was true anymore. The second he got an opinion on her, thought he had her figured, she'd so something unexpected and he'd have to reassess her all over again. What was most frustrating was how fucking much it intrigued him.

Scars ambled up beside her. "Without him down here, there's a good chance we lose this moon."

"I know," said Shepard. "But without him up there, there's a good chance we lose everything."

"Think you can win this thing, Shepard?"

James wasn't trying to eavesdrop, honest. He even picked up a rag and started wiping down his rifle, because that wasn't a question he'd ever ask her himself, not anymore. During her time incarcerated, he'd asked her and gotten an answer something along the lines of _damn straight_. Of course, that was before fifty thousand of those things dropped onto Earth.

"I don't know," she said, honestly. "But I sure as hell am going to give it my best shot."

They watched Palaven burn until Scars said, "I'm coming with you."

"You sure? Leaving Earth to the Reapers it was... It was the hardest thing I've ever done. I'll understand if you want to stay and fight."

The memory of his temper tantrum came back, and it was all James could do not to shuffle his feet like an ashamed kid. He wanted to apologize, but knew he never would. Too many emotions, and he was no good with those. Besides, he already had far too many where Shepard was concerned, so he didn't need to go adding _more_ to the mix. Maybe some of Shepard's sermons on professionalism had sunk in, or maybe the sight of Palaven was getting to him because he was a damned marine and he was going to act like it. He'd tried to have relationships with fellow soldiers in the past, that one time, and it had ended with her asking for a transfer when things when South. Fuck if he was going to be transferred off the _Normandy_ now – that was where the action was, so that was where he was going to stay.

But damn, did he feel like breaking that rule, just once, just to see. Probably, that would be one time too many.

"I'm sure," said Scars quietly. "You know I've always got your six. Someone needs to – you can't even take down a simple engineer by yourself."

"Tech shields, I'm telling you," said Shepard, and there was the barest hint of her former joviality.

James' chest felt suddenly too tight.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **James spars with Wrex and Shepard helps those in need.


	4. 3: The Skins We Wear

_A big,_ _big thank you to all of you who read/reviewed. I'm sorry I haven't been updating as much lately. Primarily, it's because I'm in the process of moving to a different city, but I've also been taking some time for more original pursuits. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten my fics! :) _

* * *

_**Chapter Three: The Skins We Wear**_

_Hey,_

_ I almost didn't believe it until I saw the DNA scan you included. Shepard kept more secrets than I thought. Guess it makes sense though, her having a kid somewhere. She always did like playing mother hen, getting all up in my business when I was part of her crew. _

_ We talked this one time (about what isn't your damn business, Shepard's kid or not) and after I asked, how come you keep asking me all these fucking questions? She said, you remind me of this girl I knew back on Earth – this girl who was really fucked up but once she had a reason to fight, she turned out okay. I called her a pussy – referring to both the girl in the story, and Shepard – and that was that._

_ It wasn't until a long time later, during the war I think, maybe later, that I figured out she'd been talking about herself. _

_ But what the hell do I know? We weren't best friends. We didn't paint each other's toe nails or talk about boys or shit. If you want the real dirty details, go talk to James Vega. I hear he might have a story or two._

_ Jack_

**o-o-o**

On Sur'Kesh, James asked that krogan, Wrex, if they could spar sometime – you know, just to see how a human held up. The big guy laughed at that, asking if Shepard had never let fly the story about her confrontation with Wrex. Honestly, James was getting a little dazed by the amount of stories coming out about his new CO. Every time they turned around, there was another new acquaintance of hers. He'd looked at her, but she'd been too busy studying the salarians, mouth thin, to pay too much attention.

He enquired further when Wrex came down to the cargo bay later on. "So what was that about you and Shepard?"

Wrex snorted, and if ever a krogan was nostalgic, it would've been wearing that expression. Mind you, it was pretty much the same as every other expression James had seen on Wrex's face. "It was during our hunt for Saren. That bastard started cloning krogan immune to the genophage. I wanted them saved, and I was prepared to kill anyone who stood in my way. Even ones I considered friends."

James let that idea settle for a minute. "Let me guess – Shepard got up in your face."

With a guffaw, Wrex said, "Of course she did. Have you met Shepard? She can't spend five minutes without getting her nose into somebody's business." He crossed his arms. "Said that these krogan weren't true krogan, that they'd just be puppets for Saren's plans. I didn't want to listen to her, but she told me she'd put me down if I stepped out of line. Any other human, I'd have blown their head off. Shepard, though... I trusted Shepard."

"She does seem to have that effect on people," agreed James.

"Yeah, but she didn't win me over with nice words or compliments," said Wrex. "She's got the biggest quad I've ever seen on a human. She'd have made a hell of a krogan. Mind you, if she had been born krogan, she would likely never have left Tuchanka and then we might've all ended up dead." He waved that thought away like it was an annoying bug.

James said, "I think I like her better human, thanks." The thought of Shepard as a krogan woman was almost too disturbing. What did the women even look like anyways? The one in the medbay – Eve – she always wore that hood thing, but even as impressive as she was, she didn't do anything for James. Shepard, on the other hand...

"You got a thing for her?" asked Wrex with such candour that James nearly choked.

"I, what? No. That's – nah," he managed, his voice several shades too deep to be casual. He cursed himself, and glanced over to make sure Estaban wasn't around, but the both the procurement console and the kodiak were free and clear.

"Shouldn't be ashamed if you do," said Wrex, and James realized with amazement he might just be getting love advice from a fucking _krogan_ of all things. "You're not the first, and you could do plenty worse than Shepard, trust me."

These were all things James knew but didn't let himself think about. Since his decision to play it cool, to stuff down this shitty schoolyard crush like ugly clothes into the back of the closet, he'd been on edge all the time. Even while on Sur'Kesh, he'd told himself not to pay attention to Shepard as a woman but as his goddamned Commander, because she had the best tactical mind he'd ever seen. He could respect her for that, could admire her mind, but that didn't stop his eyes from drifting to her hips or his mind from imagining what it would be like to put his hands on them.

And because he was a fucking moron, he'd brought it up to her too. Shepard had come down to discuss god knows what, but the conversation had degenerated to EDI. Not only was there an AI on board, but now that AI had planted herself directly into a body more at home in some sort of science fiction wet dream. _You take her with us on missions_, James had said, _and I'm going to be a little distracted_. Then, like this was some hot chick at the club instead of his CO, he'd raked his eyes over Shepard's own body. _Well, more distracted._

Who the fuck did that? Of course, he'd given himself a mental fistbump when Shepard had only smirked, eyebrows raised, crossing her arms over her chest and shifting all her weight to one leg. _Careful LT_, she said,_ or people might get the wrong idea_.

And if it had been just some hot chick at some nameless bar, he probably would've gotten closer and said, _And what idea is that_? There would've been some throwing off of clothes, followed by a wild romp with her pushed up against the procurement console, her lithe legs wrapped around him, his face buried in the crook of her neck as he...

He cleared his throat to dislodge that truly dangerous line of thought, focusing instead on a very specific part of Wrex's speech. "There were others?" Then realizing what he said, he stammered a few incoherent words before giving up in defeat, pulling a hand down his face.

The knowing smirk on Wrex's was almost too much, but he didn't comment on James' blunder. "Yeah. A few. Some asari. This one krogan on Tuchanka filled out a breeding request for her after she completed the rite with her krogan crew member. Oh, and Alenko."

"The Major?" said James. "No shit?"

"Made these big eyes at her every time she walked past on the SR1," confirmed Wrex. "From what I saw, he never had the balls to approach her head on." Then he shook his head. "But I don't want to talk about Shepard's love life anymore. I came down here to see what you've got, human."

James cracked his knuckles. "Then bring it."

They went at it, and Wrex didn't hold anything back. That was just fine with James, who needed to work off some steam. It was clear from the beginning that the match was heavily skewed in favour of Wrex, who was able to shrug off punches that would've left any other human marine down for the count and who could deliver a hit of his own like a mack truck. After one such hit, the skin under James' cheek tingled in a way that made it clear he'd have quite the shiner for the next few days. The fight effectively ended when Wrex charged at him, picking up up like he was made of tissue paper and slamming him down on the ground. All James' breath left his lungs in one gasp.

"Just like I figured," gloated Wrex. "You're all talk, human."

There really was nothing to say to that, and James didn't think he could manage it anyways.

"You killing my crew, Wrex?" James managed to turn his head enough to see Shepard stroll out of the elevator, her gait strong and assured.

"Just seeing how you marines fare against a krogan warlord." Those red eyes swung downwards. "Not great."

Shepard approached and held her hand out to James, who shook his head. "You know what? I think I'm going to stay down for a minute, Lola. Wait until I can feel my spine."

"You going to be okay for active duty?" asked Shepard.

"Oh yeah, no problem," said James, trying to keep the wheeze out of his voice.

"Like I said – not great," interjected Wrex, crossing his arms again.

"Well, going toe to toe with a krogan is never a great idea," commented Shepard, with a small shrug of sympathy in James' direction.

"You've done it." Was that a note of pride in Wrex's voice?

"Yeah, but I'm a terrible role model," said Shepard, with a smile in Wrex's direction. She laid her hand on his arm. "You're supposed to head up to the medbay. Mordin wants a tissue sample."

"Another one?" groused Wrex, shifting his weight back and forth and looking uncomfortable. "Damned scientists." But he turned and walked away without saying anything more, leaving James to stare up at Shepard.

"You look like shit," she said, squatting down next to him. She ran one finger down his cheek and he flinched, though it only half because of the pain. Her omni-tool flared up, and she brought it to his face. It secreted medigel, and the throbbing of his face eased. This time when she offered her hand, he took it, both of them standing up. "That should help, but you're going to be a little less pretty for a few days."

His ears burned and he a smile stretched across his face. "That mean you think I'm pretty, Lola?"

Shepard rolled her eyes at him. "You know what I mean." She gestured to him and walked over to his workbench, leaning one hip against it and placing something carefully on top. "I brought you something."

"For me?" he said, still smiling stupidly. "It's not my birthday."

"It's a new grenade," said Shepard, pointing down.

James frowned. "We haven't stopped anywhere. Where did it come from?"

She stared at him, the corners of her mouth twitching. Those blue eyes scanned over his face, and she rubbed at her chin. "I made it, James," she said, and seeing his mouth fall open, continued, "I noticed that your grenades weren't always detonating on impact, so I added a sensor to the small electrical package at the tip of each." She tapped the grenade very lightly with one finger. "You should be able to get more damage from a single throw, now."

James lumbered forward and picked up the grenade. It didn't look any different. Shepard said nothing. He shook his head at her, his heart thudding in his ears. "You cannot be real."

Frowning, she said, "What are you talking about?"

"You make blades, you fix grenades, you shoot better than most everyone I've ever seen, according to Wrex you can take on krogan, and you run headlong into danger without a thought," he said. He placed both his hands on the bench and placed all his weight onto his palms, leaning closer to her.

Shepard stood up tall then, shoulders squared. Her tone was defensive when she said, "I always think before I leap into danger. Sometimes, I even give it thirty seconds."

"A whole thirty, huh?"

She shrugged, but her eyes were sparkling. Damn, but if she wasn't every straight, red-blooded marine's secret fantasy, he didn't know what was. "You can take these with us when we go on the next mission. Hope you're excited to see sunny, sunny Tuchanka."

"Never seen the krogan homeworld," James said.

"It's," said Shepard, chewing her lip. "It's, uh, memorable. Was even before the giant Reaper parked its ass up there." She chuckled then. "But you better be careful."

Blinking, James frowned. "I know how to handle grenades, Shepard."

She looked like she was about to laugh, but swallowed it down. "I didn't mean about the grenades. I meant about krogan women. They like facial scars." One of her fingers traced just above the scar that crossed his face, not quite touching, but close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off her. He did his best to remain completely still. "And since you're practically built like a krogan anyways, I wouldn't pull out that flirtatious nature of yours while we're there. You could end up with a few hundred krogan-human babies."

Well, _that _was a mental image he hadn't needed. It must've shown on his face, because Shepard burst out laughing, shoulders back. James struggled to look grumpy, but the moment was ruined when that Specialist Traynor came over the comm.

"Commander – we have a message from Grissom Academy. They're requesting assistance."

Shepard's face collapsed on itself, and whatever personality she had disappeared behind that veneer of perfect military control. She nodded, even though Traynor couldn't see it. "Tell them that help is on the way."

"Aye aye, ma'am."

"Did you get that Joker?" asked Shepard.

"Loud and clear," said the pilot. "ETA is an hour and a half."

Shepard took a deep breath. She studied James' face and he did his best not to fidget under the weight of her gaze. "You're going to be sitting this one out, James. I'll take Garrus and EDI. Let that face heal up."

"I'm good to go. You don't need to coddle me," said James. What, did she think he was weak or something? He'd shrugged off injuries ten times this bad. So what if he'd gotten into an ill-advised fist fight with Wrex? He was good to go. He could still see, still run, shoot.

"Who said anything about coddling?" but it wasn't teasing, not any more. Her brows twitched firmly together and she pushed passed him, leaving him to wonder what the hell just happened.

Maybe she was fucking bi-polar. He waited until she was gone before running both hands roughly over his hair, clasping them behind his head. It was like they were circling each other in this really strange middle ground between being only crew and only friends. Of course, the fact that he was having decidedly unfriendly thoughts regarding Shepard was entirely beside the point.

Really though, if he were being honest, he knew exactly what she was doing. He did it too, whenever someone asked him about his mission on Fehl. Stonewall and change the subject. It wasn't that he was offended, he just wanted to break down that barrier and he didn't know how because he couldn't peek out his own.

He ducked behind the workbench, pushing a few crates aside. There was his bottle of tequila and shot glass. He poured one for himself and swallowed it in one. Then he did another. He could've kept going, could've finished the whole bottle because it didn't seem likely that he'd get any damned action today, but getting both punched in the face and winding up face down drunk in the cargo bay didn't seem like a great way to impress Shep – anyone.

It was because she wasn't perfect that he'd started to like her in the first place. She was screwed up, but who wasn't? James dealt with his issues by going out and getting drunk. Shepard seemed to deal with hers by pushing everybody away. The only problem with that scenario was that she was pushing _him_ away, and he didn't want to go, damnit. When they'd been on Earth, she'd been forced to deal with his company so they'd gotten past her reservations. Now? She didn't have to deal with shit.

Not that it mattered, because he was just a marine. Just her subordinate. Yeah, keep fucking telling yourself that, _pendejo_.

He worked on guns for the rest of the afternoon, offering a new pistol to EDI when she stopped by. She looked at it in her weird robotic way with an _acceptable_ and then trudged off into the shuttle. Shepard marched past with Scars shortly after, eyes dead ahead, face blank. She hopped on the shuttle and off they went.

When they returned, it was with a gaggle of teenagers led by a _very_ attractive instructor. Damn, if he'd had teachers like that in school, he might've paid more attention. She glanced over at him, caught him looking and smirked at him as the kids filed past her towards the elevator. "Hey Shepard," she called, "who's the meathead? You always bring man candy onto your ship? First Taylor, now..." She gestured at him. James couldn't help but smirk back, even as his brain rapidly tried to figure out who the hell this _Taylor_ guy was.

Shepard got off the shuttle with a sigh. Something had grazed her right cheek and she was clearly tired. "Jack, meet Lieutenant James Vega. He was my jailer back on Earth." She gestured to the woman. "James, this is Jack."

"Kinky," said Jack, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

"Nice to meet you." James held out his hand to Jack, but she just crossed her arms and rocked back and forth.

"You could do worse, Shep," said Jack, with a laugh.

"Yeah, yeah," said Shepard, with the long suffering tone of an older sister. "Move it along." Jack followed the kids up the elevator, but Shepard didn't follow, watching the other woman leave the cargo bay. "Jack's... like that," she added.

"You friends?"

"She went with me through the Omega-4 relay," said Shepard, and James couldn't quite keep his face blank. Shepard saw it right away. "I know. Trust me, I know – and this is her mellowed. She can deal damage, though, no question about that. A damn powerful biotic."

"She's kind of hot," said James, then under the weight of Shepard's scrutiny, added, "Uh, if you like that kind of thing."

"You want me to set you up?" asked Shepard lightly.

James couldn't shake the feeling that this was some sort of test. He'd never been one for them, didn't like having to prove shit to anybody, but he found himself determined not to fail this one. "No thanks, Lola. I've got enough on my plate right now." He let that hang there, just in case.

Did the corner of her mouth just twitch, or was he imagining things? She took a step towards him. "Listen, James -"

"Commander?"

Shepard spun around. James bent to see past her and saw a teenage boy stepping out of the shuttle, eyes lingering too long on the curves of the cargo bay.

"David," she said, "you okay?"

The kid began rambling off mathematical equations or something. Shepard left James to go crouch in front of the kid, speaking calmly. She convinced him, in the softest tone James had ever heard her use, to go upstairs and get some food with her. David nodded, and off they went. James couldn't help but remember how nervous she'd been about meeting her biological daughter for the first time, how sure she'd been that she would be a terrible parent in general. Seeing her with that kid who, it was obvious, had some sort of disability, well, James just wished she could see what he saw. Shepard the soldier was hot as hell, but this woman? She made James' skin tingle.

He'd known, even back on Earth, that he was in serious trouble. Seeing her hold up after being stripped of her rank, he'd been aware that he was starting to fall for her. Up until this moment, though, he'd classified it as a crush (at best) or unresolved sexual tension (at worst). What he now realized was that it wasn't either of those things. He was in danger of loving her, and the worst part was, it might already be way too late.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** James and Shepard meet up in the bar, and Shepard gets some hard news.


	5. 4: Ashes and Wine

_****Just a short chapter this time. Sorry I've been MIA. I moved cities only to discover that the accommodations I set up were... well, let's just say they weren't what I discussed with the landlady prior to my move. Things are going to be a little bit hectic over the next while, but I'll try to update when I can.  
_

* * *

_**Chapter Four: Ashes and Wine**_

_ I don't know how you got this address or why you're writing to me. Shepard and I grew apart a long time ago. Commander Shepard is probably as big a mystery to me as she is to you._

_ Kayleigh Shepard, on the other hand – her I knew. Not well, but you don't go through basic with someone, don't get posted together without becoming friends. It's a whole other level of trust, having another soldier watch your back. She was harsher back then, more angular. Her lines hadn't become quite so blurred by hearsay and rumour. But even then she shone. Even then she was different._

_ Good luck._

_ Josiah Toombs_

**o-o-o**

James didn't know when the _Normandy_ became a glorified errand boy, but he wasn't complaining. With that stealth drive, it meant that they got to see a lot of action – and it also meant that they got to come to the Citadel on a fairly regular basis. It wasn't that he didn't like the ship, but it was nice to come to the station and schmooze with likeminded individuals. He was bred for war, and he was good at it, but that didn't mean that he didn't like some R&R every so often. Well, that and the drinks were better.

Plus, the view was better. He leaned against the bar in Purgatory, tilting his head to get a good look at the wonderful ass on an asari dancer. It was _hermosa_, and even though asari weren't _really _his thing, he could get on board. He needed something to get him back on track. After enough drinks, he might be ready for anything.

He wished his squad were still alive. He and the guys had always had a blast at joints like this one. Course, that's before they ended up dead. Jesus, what he wouldn't give to have even one of them here with him now. Sure, there'd be some ribbing once they realized that he had a thing for Shepard – hell, there'd been ribbing before he even met her, back when he was just a hanger-on like everybody else – but maybe they would've had some good advice too. At the very least, they would've been able to distract him.

Another drink was pushed down the bar. The salarian bartender pointed at some of the Alliance grunts at the other end, who raised their glasses in toast. James picked up the drink and tipped it in their direction before tossing it back. A nice, fuzzy haze was beginning to gather at the edges of his vision. Maybe, just maybe, if he got drunk enough, he'd be able to sleep properly. Tomorrow, they were headed back to Tuchanka. That Mordin guy had finally gotten the genophage cure prepped, and every nerve in James' body sizzled at the idea of some more action. And since he hadn't blown all his poker money on booze, well, he could stay a little longer.

It was all because of Shepard, the drinks, and he knew it. Part of him, a small part, felt a little guilty that he was accepting drinks on her behalf. If he knew her, she wouldn't approve. But it wasn't like he was _asking _for them, or even discussing his place on the _Normandy_. He was just a guy, minding his own business.

God, even in the bar, he couldn't get away from her. And speaking of which.

James turned in time to see Shepard striding towards him, eyes taking in every corner of the club. It wasn't idle curiosity. He could tell from the way her brows were folded together. No, she was checking for tactical advantages, for potential threats, for, hell, probably all the things she had to deal with on a daily basis since becoming a Spectre. But then she stopped on him, the lines on her face ironing themselves out. Even over the bass of the club, he could hear his own heartbeat.

"Hey Commander," he said, in an attempt to try and keep things all professional like she liked. "Nice to see down here in the dirt with the rest of us grunts."

She rocked back on her heels and crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "You think I don't like getting dirty?"

And just like that, boom, she shattered all his efforts. He bounced up and down, grin on his face, and those drinks made his tone way more flirtatious than he intended. "Whoa now! Come on, I didn't mean anything by it, Lola." Although now that he was thinking about it, was it hot in here or was it just him...?

"Uh huh," she said with that unimpressed tone pasted over her laughter. "What did you mean then?"

He gestured her over and she came to lean next to him on the bar directly across from all the Alliance patrons. With an incline of his head, he said, "You see all marines over there? Not a one of them is an officer – they're all just regular soldiers fighting the war."

Shepard blinked slowly. "Yeah, and?"

He pointed to his empty glass. "They been buying me drinks the whole night. You know why? The same reason they got all quiet and serious when you walked in." It was true. Just prior to her arrival, the group had looked like a rowdy college frat party. Now they were mostly calm, shooting Shepard surreptitious glances from behind their drinks.

The change in Shepard was nearly imperceptible. She ran a hand along the back of her neck, and was clearly thinking hard about something. After a moment, her gaze slid towards him. "Is that how you see me?" Then, before he could answer, she chuckled to herself. "No, what am I saying? You don't seem intimidated by me in the least. In fact, you could use a little more deference."

She really had no idea. James was intimidated as hell by her, but not for the obvious reasons. He wasn't about to correct her though, because there was something unsure about her first question, something almost hesitant. "I've fought with you. I've seen you in action. You're good – probably one of the best."

Shepard whirled on him. "Probably?" she echoed in disbelief.

"And you fill out a uniform like nobody's business," said James, voice low as he leaned in. "Just sayin'. But I know you're human. Just like me." Which was his own special way of reassuring himself that he and Shepard might not be so far apart as it seemed. Unlikely, sure, but a man could dream. Kinda sad when the only thing in his arsenal was _hey we're both human_, but there it was.

He didn't mention any of the personal stuff from Earth. So far as he was concerned, that was all in the past. He could pretend like he didn't know shit about it. Shepard went quiet, but she didn't turn away from him. If he didn't know any better, he would have said she looked... sad?

"But they don't?" she asked.

"Nope," said James. "Hell, I still remember the day they made you the first human Spectre. Watched it on the vids like the rest of them. But to them, you're still larger than life."

"And because you've seen me almost naked, I'm just a regular old marine, huh?"

Now there was a memory he'd cling to until his dying day. Shepard emerging from the shower, clad only in a short robe that clung to her body, water running down her legs. Man, he'd walked funny for a few hours after that particular encounter.

"I wouldn't say that," he said quietly, folding his arms onto the bar and studying her face.

She fidgeted slightly. "I've seen a hell of a lot, but I'm still just a soldier. I'm still one of them."

The way she was watching those marines, yeah, it was definitely something close to sad. It made all James' protective urges kick into overdrive. "Sure," he said with a nod, "but they don't know you. They just know what they've been told." He glanced over at the marines again. "Listen, you want them to see you're one of them, right?

Mirroring him with her arms on the bar, Shepard said, "Maybe," but it was filled with more uncertainty than before. Was she nervous?

"Then buy them a round," he suggested.

She mulled it over, nodding slightly with a subtle smile on her face. "I like the way you think, Lieutenant."

The use of his rank was a little depressing, but the rest of it was good. Shepard didn't make a move though, so James pushed himself up, cupping his hands around his mouth. "_Compadres_," he called, prompting the attention of several marines, "the Commander would like you to have a drink. On her. So here's to us!"

Bolstered by this show of camaraderie, the marines approached. They saluted. "Who's like us?"

Shepard materialized by James' side with a salute of her own. "Damn few – and they're all dead."

Those marines, they came up to Shepard then and started talking about what an honour it was, and how they'd kept up with all her exploits, and how they wanted to be just like her – like she was Santa instead of a military officer. But, in her own way, she was better than Santa. Santa never blew up a Collector base. Santa never stopped a Reaper invasion. Santa was just a story parents told their kids to make them behave. Shepard – Shepard was the real deal, but the skin on her face was pulled too tight. That Commander these marines saw, she was different from what James saw. Too bad. He liked his version better.

They left, and Shepard slouched back against the bar, shaking her head. "There was a time when I could've fit right in with any group here. I could've out drank them, out cursed them. Now? It's like I don't know how to be around people anymore."

"You seem to be doing okay," said James, plopping down next to her.

"That's sweet," said Shepard, even as she handed her credit chit to the bartender to pay for the round. "I know you're just humouring me though."

"No, I'm not," he said. "I think you could get just about anyone to like you."

"James, when did you become my personal cheering section? I feel like I'm in a daytime infomerical." But she was smiling at him like she hadn't since they left Earth. "I might need to increase your pay if you keep this up."

He shrugged. "Won't hear me complaining." He pulled out his own chit. "You want a drink, Lola? My treat."

"Trying to butter me up?"

"Maybe," James confessed. Her short hair was messy on the top of her head, and James wanted to run his fingers through it. When her hair was long, it had been heavy and soft. He wondered if it was the same now. "But seeing as how you're the one writing my cheques, it's sort of an empty gesture isn't it?"

Shepard laughed. "You sure are a sweet talker, aren't you?"

"I try. So – drink?"

"Just a beer," she said.

The bartender returned with Shepard's chit and James bought their drinks. Shepard was back to surveying the room, but it wasn't nearly so clinical anymore. Some of the tension had leaked out of her muscles. It was the most relaxed he'd seen her in, fuck, ages. Since they left Earth. She sipped at her beer and didn't say much, but James didn't mind. He just liked being in her company. His eyes skittered over to the dance floor.

"We should dance," he said.

Shepard's eyes went very wide, her bottle halfway to her mouth. "That would be a bad idea. I haven't had nearly enough to drink for that."

This was too much. "You saying you can't dance, Lola?"

"Oh, I can dance," Shepard assured him with a nod. "I just can't dance _well_."

James threw his arms up in the air. "Hallelujah!"

She nudged him with her elbow. "What the hell is that for?"

He regarded her plainly, his face close enough to hers that he could almost feel her breath. "There's something you're bad at. I was starting to think it was a myth."

"There are lots of things I can't do well," said Shepard with a frown.

"Name two."

"Dancing," said Shepard, counting on her fingers, "and cooking." She looked remarkably pleased for someone who just admitted to incompetence in certain areas.

"No shit," said James, but he filed away that information for whenever he might need it. "You learn something new every day."

Mouth open, Shepard was ready to make some undoubtedly witty comeback but they were interrupted by a timid marine, hands bunched tight in front of him. "Commander Shepard?" he said.

"Yes?" Shepard was wary, and her centre of balance shifted slightly. She was ready for a fight, if it found her, and not for the first time, James couldn't help but wonder what the hell sort of situations she'd gotten herself into in the past, that she should be prepared even when confronted with another Alliance marine.

"I'm – I'm Corporal Richard Clarke," said the marine. "I'm, uh, Anton Clarke's brother."

Every bit of Shepard's body was at attention now. She set down her beer and held out her hand. Her face was younger, somehow, than James had ever seen it. She shook this Richard Clarke's hand and said, "Nice to meet you. I haven't seen Anton in, fuck, years. How's he doing?"

Clarke's eyes dropped to his shoes. "He – uh. He was with the Second Fleet."

Shepard's hand stayed around Clarke's for a touch too long before she let it drop. That youthfulness, that vitality, it vanished in an instant. James did his best to pretend like he couldn't hear them, putting himself a few feet away. He had no idea who this Anton guy was, but he and Shepard had obviously been friends. Second Fleet... Shit. Every soldier in the Alliance knew what happened to them. Left at Arcturus to buy the other fleets time to escape. Not a single fucking survivor. The call hadn't been made lightly, everyone knew that, but still – James was glad Hackett was the one in charge and not him.

"My – my condolences," said Shepard quietly. "I didn't know.

The corporal shrugged slightly. "Don't worry about it. And thanks." He paused, edging from foot to foot. "Anton always said you were the best. He was real proud when you got made the first human Spectre. When everyone thought you were dead he, well, he didn't take it well. He wanted to visit you on Earth, but he was Captain of a freighter and Hackett..." Clarke didn't seem able to finish his thought. "I just, I thought you should know."

"Thank you," said Shepard. Clarke nodded and moved on, but Shepard stayed ramrod straight, her hands opening and shutting at her sides.

James wasn't real great with words. He said, "You okay?"

Shepard just shook her head. "Anton is – was – one of the oldest friends I had left. We went through the N school together. I got my N7 designation for saving his sorry ass." Her voice was soft, nearly inaudible over the music. Her face was perfectly blank, though her eyes were a touch too bright.

"Sorry, Shepard," said James, knowing anything he said would be hugely unhelpful.

"He asked me to marry him a few times," she offered, like it was some sort of throwaway trivia. James couldn't help himself from jolting. "I thought about it. He was good looking. Good soldier too. You remind me a little bit of him, sometimes."

Did that make him feel better or worse, to be compared to some guy that had obviously meant quite a bit to Shepard at some point? "You didn't marry him – why?"

She was quiet a long time. "I didn't think I could be what he needed." One hand moved to cover her eyes and she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry Lieutenant. I have a shit ton of work to do. I'll see you aboard the _Normandy_. We set off at oh five hundred hours." She pushed through the crowd without ever once looking at him.

If he could, he would go after her. He'd hold her. Instead, he picked up her abandoned beer and took a swig, trying hard not to think about the fact that only minutes before, it had been her mouth on the bottle.

* * *

**Next** **Chapter: **James and Shepard deal with the fallout after Tuchanka.


	6. 5: Pushing Through and Opening Up

_**Chapter Five: Pushing Through and Opening Up**_

_ Shepard popped out a kid and then bounced back to kick the galaxy in the balls? Doesn't surprise me. She should've been born a krogan. She'd have made a damned good one._

_ You want to know about Shepard? One of the best damned fighters I've ever seen. Could take out a merc group without them ever knowing she was there. Utterly fearless. A good friend. By the time the close of the war, there was a lot of blood on her hands, but she saved my people, saved us all, and I guess you could say that it balanced out if you're the squeamish, sentimental type._

_ If you are, that's disappointing. I always pictured any kid of Shepard's to be made of steel. _

_ Urdnot Wrex_

**o-o-o**

Tuchanka was a roller coaster and a half. James couldn't feel his left shoulder, and he was pretty sure he was going to be hearing that high keening from the thresher maw for the rest of his life – or, well, the next few hours, anyways. Damn, that thing had a set of pipes. He jumped as Stitches – his new name for Chakwas – dug her finger into this muscle right where his shoulder met his arm, and the pain was instantaneous. No way he was going to let her know that though. It'd ruin his reputation.

The pain gradually gave way, leaving him with an odd pins and needles all down his arm. He started to shake it out, but with one dark glance from Stitches, he stopped. That expression was so near his _abuela's_ it was like she was alive again. Only, you know, in the body of a much younger British doctor, and if James were into older women, hell, she'd be up there on the list.

Right after…

Shepard strolled into the medbay already wearing her fatigues. The one side of her face was turning a nasty yellowish colour, and she was favouring her left leg a little. Other than that, you wouldn't be able to tell just by looking that she'd led the single most fucking insane mission he'd ever been on. Curing the genophage was one thing, but going toe-to-toe with a Reaper – while setting out to summon the Mother of All Thresher Maws _and_ being bombarded by those brute motherfuckers – well, he never thought working with Shepard was going to be easy street.

Stitches put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow at Shepard. It was such a mom look that James had to hide his smile behind a cough, but even then he was sure Shepard noticed from the way her eyes flickered in his direction and her eyebrow threatened to dance upwards.

"Well, what have you done to yourself this time?" asked Stitches.

Shepard gave this nonchalant little shrug and started to pull up her shirt. The room instantly went up about five million degrees, and James could feel the back of his neck burning. "Uh, should I be headed out, Commander?" he asked.

Now her eyebrows did shoot up, and there was this amused glint in her eye that made him want to smile at her even though he was sure she was laughing at his expense, evil woman. She said, "Why, Lieutenant, you've seen me far less dressed than this." Which was true, and brought back a whole flood of memories he really didn't need right then. Then, all innocent like, she jerked her head towards the window into the mess. "Besides, I'm going to be giving someone a show no matter what. Might as well be you, right?"

"That an invitation?"

This was where Stitches gave a little cough of her own and pretended to be thoroughly engrossed with playing doctor. "Show me what you need to show me, Commander."

"Get a load of this," said Shepard to James. "Sexiest thing you'll ever see, guaranteed."

Without any warning, she flipped off her shirt and stood in the medbay in her pants and – was that an N7 sports bra? For real? But then his mind was pulled away from Shepard's weird lingerie choice and to her body, all her words taking on this real sinister edge. Her torso was mottled purple and blue and black, splattered all down her right side and towards her navel.

James sucked in a deep breath. "Jesus, Lola, what the hell happened?"

"I'd wager what always happens," said Stitches, leading Shepard by the arm towards the bed. "The Commander here did something incredibly stupid and impossibly heroic." The doctor pulled up her omni-tool and started doing scans.

Shepard wasn't amused anymore. Her eyes were fuzzy with remembering, a slight frown pulling at her features. "Remember when we were getting towards the maw hammers and then all those brutes showed up from fucking nowhere?"

Did he. They'd been crawling all over those freaky krogan ruins, her and Scars and him, trying to get to the maw hammers. The Reaper was right there in front of them, staring down with that weird laser-slash-eye thing. James had been yelling about how fucking _insane_ this all was, and how they should get their asses back to the Normandy and find some other way.

Shepard had looked at him over her shoulder, completely resolute. "This is the _only _way. You with me or not, Lieutenant?"

He'd met that impossibly blue gaze and nodded. Then he threw in a trademark Vega grin and shrug to match. "Didn't want to live forever anyways," he yelled over the commotion around them, and he'd popped a new thermal clip into his rifle.

Scars had laughed. "You're in good company, then." To Shepard, he'd added, "But this _is_ pretty insane, Shepard, even for us."

But she hadn't been listening. She timed it just so, and then with the yell of _move_ she'd vaulted forward, damn near under the Reaper they were aiming to kill. That was fine; he and Scars were right behind her as she moved forward, using her SMG instead of her rifle in these close quarters. He had the thought of _this is way easier than I thought_ and then Shepard suddenly wasn't in front of them anymore.

What was in front of them was one ugly ass brute. Shepard's body collided with a fallen concrete slab to their left, and she fell to her knees. It was like all his guts were tumbling out of his body when she let fly small grunt of pain. James and Scars had taken up shooting, but the thing seemed dead set on Shepard herself. It charged at her, and with a glare in its direction, she hit her tactical cloak and disappeared. James lobbed a grenade at the _pendejo _and whooped as it exploded with gross, husk-like blood raining down over the perimeter.

"Not over yet," screamed Shepard, materializing on his right.

He glanced up and noticed three more moving down to their position. With a curse, he began firing everything he had at them. It was chaos, pure and simple. He couldn't keep track of which one was which. All he could do was keep firing. Shepard seemed to be nowhere and everywhere at once. At one point, she leapt off an outcropping onto the back of one of the brutes and drove her omni-blade into the fucker's head before hopping off like it was some mechanical bull and not some mutant monster. She'd turned, eyes searching for him and Scars. That's when James noticed the shadow growing around her.

She noticed too, eyes moving upwards and she rolled out of the way just in time to miss a giant Reaper leg come down on the spot where she'd been standing. She stood, and her helmet had been cracked all to hell. She threw it down like it didn't matter and sprinted up the stairs. The second later, he heard the _thwump_ of the hammer.

"The scans show a moderate amount of internal bruising as well," said Stitches, closing her tool. "You must be in a great deal of pain." She moved to her desk and pulled out a few bottles of pills. She tossed one to Shepard, who glanced at the level.

"How many?" asked Shepard.

"Four a day," said Stitches. "Preferably with meals, if you can manage it. And I must insist that you rest, and refrain from any strenuous activities for at least the next forty-eight hours."

Shepard's face squished up. It wasn't her most attractive look. "No promises."

Stitches sighed, bringing a hand to her forehead. "Of course not. Well, try your best in any case."

"And next time," added James, feeling left out of the conversation, "let me get pummelled by the brutes, okay?"

She just stared at him. Her hand came to rest on Stitches' arm for a brief moment, and then she was striding out of the room like he hadn't said anything at all. James felt like apologizing for whatever he'd done – or hadn't done – to receive such a cold shoulder. Something must've shown on his face, because Stitches was there, working on his muscles some more, and she smiled.

"Don't worry about the Commander," she assured him. "She always gets a little touchy when she's reminded that she's not superwoman." Her thin fingers poked and prodded at his arm. Her face went thoughtful. "Or when others speak of protecting her. I don't think she's had much of that in her life." Stitches' tone was soft on the last, and James couldn't help but think, yeah, this woman, she's probably the closest thing Shepard has to a mom.

"She hasn't," said James, and then bit his tongue, knowing how that sounded.

Stitches' face was wide with surprise. "She talked to you about that?"

"Well, I, uh, not really," stammered James, bringing his other hand to scratch at the back of his neck. "But you hear things, you know, when you're guarding someone." It sounded lame even to his ears, but he didn't know how Shepard would feel about him sharing all her personal business, even if it was only with Stitches.

Stitches took a step back and looked at him as through she'd never really seen him before. There was some sort of question mark in her eyes, and James didn't know what the hell it was referring to or what it wanted to know, but he felt like some spotlight had been dropped on him. She seemed to realize as much, and with one last pinch to one last nerve cluster, she backed away.

"That should do it," she said. "But the same goes for you – rest if you can, and avoid beating up on that bag I know you have stashed down there."

James hopped off the table and offered her a saucy salute. "Yes, ma'am."

He was rewarded with a laugh. "Oh, stop. Get out of here, you." She made a shooing gesture at him.

That Mordin guy hadn't made it out alive. James didn't know the guy real well, and hadn't ventured into the med bay during the salarian's stay. The guy had seemed a little jittery though, all over the place, and he was always, like, humming under his breath and stuff. But he knew Shepard had liked him, that Mordin had been with her when she took on the Collectors, and that… That counted for a lot, in James' book. Shepard tended to be a pretty good judge of character, even if half the people they were meeting were as loony toons as she was.

He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and headed down to the cargo bay. Estaban turned to him, wide eyes motioning over to James' workspace. There, with her hands all taped up, was Shepard, pummelling the shit out of the punching bag. With each punch, she let out a little grunt – but it wasn't cute, and it wasn't sexy, because they sounded much too painful for that.

Estaban came over close. "I tried to _politely_ suggest that maybe she ease up, and uh, let's just say that Shepard's got a scary mean face."

"I know, man," agreed James, hands clenching around his water bottle. They both watched Shepard in silence for a few seconds, but then it was just too much. "I'm going in, Estaban. If I die, you're welcome to have my workbench."

"Oh gee, you're so kind, Mr Vega," sniped Estaban, but it lacked any real bite.

With a deep breath, James marched forward. He leaned back against his workbench, dropping his water bottle on top and crossing his arms. Shepard's eyes swirled briefly in his direction, but she kept up her assault.

"Didn't Stitches say you were supposed to rest and _not_ to over exert yourself?" asked James, all casual like, even though he could hear his own pulse. But he knew Shepard, knew how she thought, and this was Shepard unhappy. He could tell from the way her face showed nothing at all.

"I'm the Commander of this ship," she ground out, giving a one-two combo.

There really was no arguing with that. "Yeah," said James, "and Stitches is the doctor. You might want to maybe listen to her? I haven't seen her angry yet, but I'm willing to bet it's fucking terrifying."

Shepard landed a particularly ferocious punch with her right hook, and from the looks of it, she immediately regretted it. She curled around her side, breathing loudly through her mouth, eyes closed as her face contorted in pain. "Shit," she whispered.

If James were a really big asshole, this would've been the part where he said _I told you so_. But because he was only a medium sized asshole, he picked Shepard up and set her sitting on a few crates in his little nook before she had the chance to make a big commotion about it. Her expression was thunderous under her low-hanging brows, but James pretended to ignore it, instead taking a swig from his water bottle with a pointed look in her direction.

"You wanna tell me what's bothering you, Lola?" She didn't say anything, and the silence made James uncomfortable, though he couldn't have told you why, exactly. "Is it your friend – that Mordin guy?" Her eyes clenched slightly. Bingo.

"I don't want to talk about it," she snapped. It sounded suspiciously like _fuck you_.

James held up his hands in surrender. "Fine," he said. He went back to his workbench, totally prepped to finish installing the mod on his new vindicator rifle. He pretended not to notice how Shepard made as though to stand, and flinched, her hand coming to her side. She slumped back, glaring at him – a glare that became only more pronounced when it became clear he wasn't going to react at all. That would be giving in, and James Vega never gave in.

Or, okay, if she suggested something _really_ good, he might give in. Or if she cried. But damn, the day he saw Shepard crying would be the day he would be well and truly lost. It was a close thing even now, and she was giving him the stink eye like it was going out of fashion.

With a sigh, she dropped her head into her hands. Fuck, he wanted to comfort her but he didn't know what to do, and no matter what he decided, she'd probably consider it totally inappropriate. So he just kept working, keeping an eye on her as she sat there, face hidden from him.

"I had to do it," she said finally, so quiet James almost didn't hear her over the hum of the Normandy. "I had to let him do it."

James' fingers were slick with oil, and there was this uncomfortable pressure in his chest. He grabbed his rag and started wiping off his hands, if only for something to do while they had this chat. He'd offered to talk, and he would, but he wasn't good with this whole _feelings_ business. There was a reason he was a marine. And Shepard, well, she wasn't good at it either if he was being honest, but somehow, when he was around her, all there was were feelings.

"You know, most people wouldn't have cured the genophage," he said, in what he hoped was a conversational, non-judgemental tone. "Not even for the Reaper war. Why did you?"

"God, you make me sound like some paragon with humanity," she said with a breathy, self-deprecating laugh. Shepard leaned back, her hands clenched on her knees. Her eyes were distant, examining things he couldn't see. "I don't know. There were so many reasons. A lot of them were selfish. Like: krogan reproduce quickly, right? So in the event that we completely fail," she held up a hand to stop James when he frowned, mouth open to protest, "there will still be at least one organic race in the galaxy capable of making the Reapers' lives a little shittier for a little longer. Like, Palaven needs reinforcements to even consider helping Earth, and Earth to me is priority one. Like, that Dalatrass pisses me the fuck off and I want her to know that this isn't a war that can be fought on her terms, not anymore. Like," and her voice got soft here, "I can't even imagine what it would do to those women, to be unable to have children even while their civilization was crumbling around them."

There was something there. A thread of something in that last that James couldn't help but jump on. God, Shepard was the most complex, the most annoyingly vague person he'd ever met. She could speak straight statements and have them mean something completely different. James wasn't the brightest guy ever, and he could pick up on it, but damn if he was lost to their meaning half the time.

"You thinking about Dahlia?" he hedged.

"Yeah," she said, and then pulled a face. "I mean, no. I haven't heard from her and I'm a little worried, but that's not what I meant."

He walked over and hopped on a crate next to her. "What did you mean then?"

She slumped her shoulders, turning to him. The expression on her face said that she didn't understand him the same way he didn't understand her. Which was kind of bullshit because he considered himself a fairly straightforward guy. Not like her, who kept her private life close and her secrets buried six feet down.

"Why do you care?" she asked, but it wasn't angry or defensive or anything. It was genuinely curious, and maybe a little sad. James wanted to reach out and touch her face, her hand, hell, any part of her – and he did mean _any_ part – and make it so that she'd know _exactly_ why. Only, he was chicken shit and couldn't manage it.

He bumped her shoulder with his. "That's what friends are for, right?"

"Usually, my friends leave my business alone and I leave theirs," said Shepard.

"Okay, now I know that's a lie," he said, unable to suppress his smile. "According to Joker, about the time the collector attacks were happening, you were flying around the galaxy playing at Dear Dinah, solving _everybody's_ problems. That true?"

"I wasn't anything like Dear Dinah," protested Shepard. "I doubt Dinah would condone the amount of violence I employed during those trips."

He couldn't help it. He cracked up at that, imagining the Dear Dinah columns that would involve Shepard's particular diplomatic methodology. Gradually, a small smile stretched onto Shepard's face too, and she shook her head, though whether it was at him or at herself, he had no fucking clue.

"I just don't like talking about myself," she said.

"No shit." he said, grinning.

"You're an asshole, James," she said, but she too was smiling widely. James counted that as a victory.

He let his grin slide off his face, and bumped her shoulder again, softer this time. "Hey, I'm sorry about your friend. Mordin."

"Thanks," she said, accepting it with a nod. "He was a good man. Don't know if he believed it all the way, but he was. And god, he was fucking brilliant. He could do things with medicine and technology that left me all the way confused." She let out a short huff of air, and pushed herself off the crate. She ran a hand through her cropped hair, looking perplexed and lost. She studied him for a long time, eyes couched under furrowed brows. James fidgeted under her glance, but finally met it head on. "Why do I always find myself opening up to you?"

"My stunning good looks?" offered James. "My charming personality?"

Her blue eyes sparkled. "I was going to go with _bad habit_, actually."

James pressed his hands to his chest and leaned back. "Ouch, Lola. That hurt."

"I doubt it," said Shepard, and he was pleased to hear her sounding significantly calmer, even if she couldn't manage _happier_. She poked him. "You're built like a rhino."

"Oh, so you did notice!" interjected James, throwing her a flirtatious look.

She shook her head, chuckling. Turning, she started to walk away and James couldn't help but notice her… assets. She raised a hand in a wave. "See you, Lieutenant." As she passed Estaban, she nodded at him before disappearing into the elevator.

Estaban scurried over. "What the hell was that?"

"What?" said James, giving his best innocent face. It never worked on his _abuela_ and Estaban seemed as equally immune.

"You and Shepard? The flirting?"

"I flirt with everybody. You should know that better than anyone." James waggled his eyebrows at the other man, hoping he wouldn't notice anything out of the ordinary.

Estaban wasn't convinced in the slightest. "Uh huh," he said. "Yeah, you're right Mr Vega – I've seen you flirt your ass off, it's true. But I've never seen you..." Estaban made some vague gesture to the punching bag and James' workstation. "Is there something I should know?"

James forced himself to shrug. Not only was he not good about talking about feelings, he _really_ wasn't good about talking about them when they related to Shepard. Hell, he had a fucking yen for his CO. If that didn't spell cluster fuck, he didn't know what did. But more than that, if he admitted to liking Shepard, everyone was going to think it was because she was smoking hot in battle or a fucking hero – both true, by the way, and neither one hurt – but that wasn't it. He might not have been able to definitively say that he would have liked her just as well if she wasn't Commander Shepard, but he didn't want people just to _assume_ that he wouldn't.

And yeah, Estaban was an all-around good guy, and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't leap to that conclusion, but James didn't want to find out either way.

"There isn't anything to know," said James, which was nearly true. There really wasn't anything going on between him and Shepard.

For a moment, it appeared as though Estaban was going to push the point, but he just clamped his mouth shut instead. Those damn eyes of his, though, they were way too knowing. "If you say so," he said. He stood around a few moments more, but when it became clear that James had nothing more to say, off he went.

And James _did_ say so. Even if he was starting to feel (okay, that was being generous, there was no fucking _starting_ about it) more than camaraderie for her – and he was, he definitely was – how the hell do you chat up a woman like Shepard? He couldn't even begin to guess.

God, did he wish he knew what was going on inside that pretty head of hers.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** James gets some news and has to go to Shepard for advice.


	7. 6: The Tide of the Past

_****Sorry for the delay guys. I've now moved and should (hopefully) be able to update everything more frequently.  
_

* * *

_**Chapter Six: The Tide of the Past**_

_Ms Misra,_

_ If you're wanting insight on Commander Shepard during the war with regards to her personal life, I'm afraid I may be the wrong person to ask. If, however, you want a tactical appraisement of her character and military efficiency, that I can do._

_ Quite simply put, Shepard was one of the most talented soldiers I've ever met. I was the one who approached her after Akuze with her N7 commendation – a commendation she was originally loathe to accept. Underneath her surly exterior, her flippant comments and her now famous stubbornness (or determination, if you'd prefer), I could tell that she was someone to watch. Even more so because she never ever stopped seeing herself as more than just a soldier. _

_ She asked me only once: why me? And I'll tell you what I told her. You can pay a soldier to fight, pay him to kill, but you can't pay him to believe in it. With Shepard, more often than not, no payment was necessary. People would look to her and know that _she_ believed. She inspired faith in people, and those people would in turn follow her to the ends of the galaxy. _

_ I think the fact that you met her only once and are seeking her out now speaks to that, don't you? _

_ Good luck with your search._

_ Steven Hackett_

**o-o-o**

James stared at his omni-tool, and for once his mind was completely blank. Yeah, okay, har har, most people would joke that this was probably the case most the time – James was quite aware that he came across as a meathead marine, thanks very much – but it wasn't usually true. Sure, his thoughts might not have been turned to curing cancer or solving the population problem on Earth (something that wasn't going to be an issue anymore after this war), but still, there were thoughts.

Now? Not so much. His brain was filled with a static buzz.

Jesus Christ. Fehl had been… and now…

He figured it took real talent to be speechless in your own brain. He leaned heavily against his bunk, hands outstretched and closed his eyes. One breath in, one breath out. Yeah, he still had fucking nothing. An N7 commendation. Fuck, he thought they only handed those out to the hardest, toughest, meanest marines – soldiers capable of doing what nobody else could. Soldiers like Shepard.

James was a good soldier – hell, he was a great soldier, but he wasn't going to kid himself. Shepard he was not, and not only because he didn't have her wicked legs or technical know-how. No, Shepard led and made it look easy. She took losses, and she mourned them, but then she got right back up and kept at it. She was human, yeah, but she was one fucking special specimen. And yeah, clearly not all those recruited could measure up to her, but _him_? _Really_?

He could take the heat, he didn't doubt that. Whatever they threw at him in the N-school, he wouldn't give up. That wasn't even a question. What concerned him more was leading, was being in charge of a squad. People die. Soldiers learn that quickly. Soldiers in war time more so.

Could he get used to that? Could he trust himself to make the right calls?

A groan ripped from his lips and he slammed his hands against the bunk. He hoisted himself up onto the top and pulled up his interface again. Really, there was only one person to talk to about this – only one person he _could_ talk to about this. So he typed some no-nonsense letter that gave nothing away and fired it off to Shepard, not sure if he wanted her to reply or not.

He considered, briefly, who else he could talk to about this sort of thing. Scars was a soldier – and from what he'd seen, a damned good one – but he was also turian. Did turians have an equivalent to the N7 program? James assumed they must, but he had no idea whether or not Scars had ever participated. And turians were weird with their honour. Probably, they all accepted the second they were nominated, without question, grinning as wide as their mandibled mouths would allow.

James ran through the rest of the crew. Joker and Estaban were the only other two Alliance soldiers he was close with on board, but neither one were ground grunts. Estaban would probably think it through, follow some sort of logical thought process. Joker… who knew what that guy would say? Probably poke fun at James' expense and then settle on _do whatever you want, man_. And both of their opinions (or lack thereof) would be meaningless, because neither one knew jack shit about the N7 program.

And strictly speaking, neither did he. There were the stories new recruits whispered in their barracks during training – wrestling klixen on the outer ridges of the galaxy, assassinating krogan warlords, going undercover on Omega – but nobody really _knew_ for sure… Except Shepard. And, okay, all the other N7s out there, which was to say, not many.

He rested his forearm over his eyes and tried to stop himself from remembering the screams of his squad. His skin tingled with anxiety, even though the whole thing happened over a year ago, and he remembered the clench of his whole nervous system as he discovered Captain Toni had been taken. He could almost taste the bile that filled his mouth when he saw what some of his crew – some of his _friends_ – had been reduced to at the hands of the Collectors.

While he wouldn't go so far as to say it was all his fault, it sure felt like it some days.

And that, too, that was another reason why Shepard was the only one he could talk to. They'd both been through the same thing. They both knew what it was like to lose a whole squad and be rewarded for it. James wanted her advice, wanted her reasoning, but knew that he hugged his own wounds close like some injured animal, so how could he justify asking Shepard about hers?

His omni-tool pinged and he tapped it. Shepard's voice echoed through the room. "James, I've got a free moment if you want to come up and talk."

Swallowing the golf ball that seemed to be lodged in his throat, James nodded before realizing it was voice only. "Yeah," he said, "I'll be right up."

The line went dead. Shepard clearly hadn't read Miss Manners.

He pulled himself into a seated position and ran his hands down his face before swinging off his bunk. He hadn't counted on Shepard being so Johnny on the spot, and now he was tripping over what to tell her. How much would he have to reveal about Fehl? How many questions could he ask? How far could he push the bounds of their quasi-friendship?

His feet were like cinderblocks as he shuffled his way to the elevator, and he remembered all those old mob stories his uncle used to tell him, of patsies being thrown in the river with concrete shoes to drown. What did that say about him and Shepard, that he thought of that? Probably he didn't want to know. He mashed the button up to the captain's quarters and wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants, murmuring to himself that there was no reason to be nervous. Really.

The door was unlocked when he reached the top, and he bounced from foot to foot for a few moments, letting out a deep breath and finally deciding, fuck it. He hit the interface and purposefully strolled into the room, nodding at Shepard and throwing out a, _hey man how's it going_, like they were two drinking buddies, two regular old joes instead of… well, what they were.

"Good, James," said Shepard, but she sounded tired. She stood in the middle of her room like she didn't quite know what to do with her body. After a few seconds, she added, "You?"

"Good, good," lied James, but figured it was all right, it was even, because she couldn't be much better than he was, which was down and out shitty. He pried his eyes away from her, taking in the room. Man, fresh water was probably getting really scarce on some worlds, and here was Shepard with a fucking aquarium in her room – and one devoid of fish. Probably her idea of giving the finger to whichever Cerberus drone designed the thing. "Wow," he continued, eyes raking over every inch of the room, and he didn't have to pretend at the awe in his voice. "So this is what I can look forward to when I get my own command, huh?"

Shepard sounded amused. "You want your own ship, Vega?"

And because they were in the middle of the war and any ship that wasn't the Normandy had a snowball's chance in hell of surviving Reaper forces – James was going to find whoever designed stealth drives and kiss them on the lips, provided they both survived, and provided the engineer even _had_ lips – and because of the strange way Shepard was looking at him, he shrugged. "Yeah, maybe someday, when I'm old and can't fight worth shit anymore."

"You just come to make fun of your commander?" said Shepard with a lopsided smile.

"Sorry, Lola," said James, and he paused for a moment before descending the stairs, raising an eyebrow pointedly at the model ships. "Though if I'd wanted to make fun of you, I could've mentioned those there."

Shepard crossed her arms and shrugged. "It's not the most glamorous hobby, I'll admit, but it gives me something to focus on. Something to unwind." Her eyes skittered to the floor, brows pulling together. "Normally, it would be tech, but lately everything I've had to work on has been a weapon, or a schematic for the Crucible or…" She huffed slightly, pulling a tired look of annoyance. "Gluing bits together helps me focus on one small task that has nothing to do with the war. Helps me forget."

James got that. Sorta. Yeah, he needed time to decompress, and usually that time would be spent watching football on the extranet or going for beers with his buddies. Lately, though, most of his time had been spent thinking about the war. Nothing eased his tension like throwing a few punches at the bag and imagining it was some creepy Reaper shock troop. Bam, another one dead. Bam, and another.

But he wasn't Commander Shepard.

"Makes sense," he said. He wanted to tell her how cute he thought it was, that the savior of the Citadel spent her free time putting together model ships made for twelve year olds, but he didn't. He'd almost said as much to her – about her being cute and all – the first time she'd approached him with that omni-blade upgrade, her face lit up like it was her birthday and she'd just gotten a pony. But that would be showing his hand, and James was nothing if not a great poker player.

"You wanted something?" she prompted.

He could hear screaming in his head, and he wasn't sure if it was the memory of his buddies dying or his own anxiety wailing away in there. He frowned. "I guess… I guess I got some things on my mind. I wanted to get your opinion on something."

Her eyebrows shot up, and she took a few steps back. Something slithered beneath the muscles of her face, and God, James was really starting to wish he'd done the schooling thing and studied psychology, only he was pretty sure that even then he'd have no fucking clue. Though, being honest, he wouldn't be surprised if after this was all done, they started offering _The Psyche of Commander Shepard_ courses – and they would all be complete bullshit.

"Well, this is new," commented Shepard dryly. "For once it's you coming to me instead." She nodded decisively. "Shoot."

He could think about this all day and still not know how to put it, so he just jumped right in. "What did you do when they asked you to join the N7 program? Was it a no-brainer or did you think about it before accepting?"

Shepard swallowed. "The N7 program is a big deal, but it's also a big commitment."

"I hear that," said James.

"You get the best training, the best equipment, best assignments…"

"And they expect the best from you," finished James.

"Yes, they do," agreed Shepard, voice tight. She glanced at the floor and took a deep breath. When she spoke next, her voice was perkier. "Why you asking?"

Now, here was the part he hadn't been looking forward to – you know, where he actually had to grow a pair and fess up. "Well, even with all the shit that's going down, someone, somewhere managed to track me down and forward me an N7 commendation. It's dated the same day the Reapers attacked Earth." He shoved his hands into his pockets.

"You don't sound too thrilled," commented Shepard.

And see that, right there, that was the reason he was anxious about talking to her about this and the reason why she was the only person he _could_ talk to about this. James raised a shoulder. "Well, besides the fact that there won't be an N7 program if we don't win this… Being a soldier is the only thing I've ever really been good at – and not 'cause I try." He sighed, and tried to push away the memories that crowded in on him. "Last time I had a command, I lost almost everyone and they promoted me for it. I guess I'm just not sure if I'm ready to lead again. I don't know if I want that responsibility."

If by this point Shepard had had this pitying look on her face, all sympathy and sickly sweetness, James might've left right then and there. But the closest she got was dropping her arms to her sides, head tilted to the side, considering. She gestured with her head to the couch, and he sat down. She disappeared up the steps for a moment and squatted besides her desk. When she returned, she had two beers – and she handed one to him.

Really, was there any doubt that she was the perfect woman? James didn't think so.

He popped his open and took a swig. She opened hers too, but set it down on the table, untouched. Her hands came to rest on her knees. She said, "You mentioned that before. What went wrong?" But she wasn't looking at him.

Somehow, that made it easier. James leaned back, his head bumping against the wall as he stared up through the skylight towards the stars that filtered past. "What didn't?" He shut his eyes. He told her what happened, how they were checking on the readings, how they'd been betrayed. How Captain Toni wound up dead. How most of them wound up dead. How he'd made the hard choice. He was pretty proud he managed to stay calm, because he could remember the exact way the blood had pooled, and the how eerie the silence had been, and how those colonists had just stood there, petrified – literally – and he'd known that they could see him, could see he wasn't going to help them and…

He took a swig of beer.

"You can't blame yourself for being put in a bad position," remarked Shepard after a few beats. James opened his eyes, but she was almost turned away so that he could only see her in profile. "And if they promoted you, something must've gone right." Her hands were bunched on her lap.

James frowned. "Sure, but…"

"If you'd saved them all," interrupted Shepard, "would things have worked out better?"

"I," said James, sitting up. "I dunno. I don't think so."

"The right choice isn't always the easy one," intoned Shepard.

Something about the way she said it was totally off. James wanted to know why, but he didn't want to pry. Shepard had more secrets than a murder mystery. "Did you know that before you joined the N7?"

"Yep," said Shepard, and she left it at that.

And because he had to know, because he _needed_ to know, he asked, "You learn that on Akuze?"

Shepard's head spun towards him so fast James was sure she'd get whiplash. There was this intent look on her face, like she was staring down the barrel of a gun, waiting for it to explode, willing it not to. Her lips moved but no sound came out. She rubbed her arms. "No," she said at last. "Before. Long before. But Akuze, it drove the point home." She chewed on her lip. "I ever tell you how I got my commendation?"

James sat to attention now. "No." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Shepard, you don't have to."

Maybe she wasn't even listening. She certainly started talking like she hadn't heard a single damn thing he'd said. "I was in the hospital. Still recovering from my injuries. My meds alone would've cost me more than my annual salary at that point. Had this lovely scar all down my back. Maw venom burns like a bitch. Ate through my armour and nearly down to my spine. Scar's gone now, thanks to Cerberus." Something in the off-handed way she said this made the hair on the back of James' neck stand up. "Hackett showed up and told me that I'd demonstrated skills above the cut, blah blah, we want you in N7, great honour, blah." She pulled a hand down her face, and threw a whisper of a smile in his direction. "I wasn't keen on the idea."

That was… unexpected. James didn't know why, but he always just assumed – everyone he know always just assumed – that Shepard had snatched up that N7 right away. That she'd known, somehow, that it was her destiny to be the most badass marine in the galaxy. That it was a no-brainer.

"Being the one who survives isn't easy," said Shepard, "but in the end, you've got to make those deaths count for something. I'm still working on that – have to blow the Illusive Man out of the fucking sky for the job to be complete – but N7 gave me a great stepping stone."

"So you think I should accept?" hedged James.

"Assuming we survive this, that's a no-brainer," said Shepard, and now her smile was more prominent. "You're a hell of a soldier, Vega. Don't waste that opportunity. Make it count."

"I'll think about it," he said, and seeing her look, added, "Seriously." He stood, setting down his beer. "If you don't mind, maybe don't mention this to anyone else?"

Shepard stood too. "Of course not."

"_Gracias_," said James. He started to turn away, clearing his throat. "Well, I think I need to get back to the hangar. Things here… they're getting a little too soft for me."

Her eyes sparkled. "The bed's harder than it looks."

He stared at her, dumbfounded, for what felt like forever, before his grin caught up to his libido. He took a step towards her, a swagger really, and oh fuck what was he doing? "You flirting with me, Lola?" Her body language, hell, even her eyes all screamed _yes_ but her face was otherwise so blank he took a step back, raising his hands in surrender. Professionalism, yadda yadda. "Okay, okay, I'm going."

James was almost to the elevator when he heard her call his name. He glanced over his shoulder, and Shepard tossed him something. He caught it. Opening his fist, he saw it was a small pin – a pin in the shape of N7.

Shepard smiled. "Congratulations."

When the door to her quarters closed, James pinned to the left side of his chest.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **James decides he needs another beer to continue tackling his story.


	8. Interlude One: Choices

_**Interlude One**_

James' beer is empty. He wonders when the hell that happened, and why didn't he notice? Dahlia's leaning forward on the couch, soaking up his every word with wide eyed eagerness. It's different for her – Shepard's her mom, after all, in genes if not in relationship – but it reminds him too much of all those fucking reporters that have been skulking around, running stories full of misinformation since the end of the war. And yeah, most of that misinformation isn't exactly what you'd call negative, but that almost makes worse. At least before the war, when they'd been towing her name through shit, they'd been doing so for a specific political reason, albeit a stupid one. Now? It's like they don't even care about Leigh Shepard the person. Just Commander Shepard, the savior.

It was part of the reason the house was kept under a fake name. After a few thrown punches, James had decided enough was enough.

Just thinking about it makes him want another beer.

He stands, popping the joint in his shoulder. It's never been the same following the war, prone to sticking and throbbing like a motherfucker. He gestures with his beer bottle. "You sure you don't want a beer?"

Dahlia shakes her head.

Well, James is going to have another one. Once upon a time, he told Shepard that in order to talk about Fehl, he was going to need to be really drunk. The Reaper War is in that same category. God, he has years' worth of nightmares from what, in the end, amounted to only a few weeks and, let's be honest, most of them are about Shepard. About not reaching her in time. About her dying a million and five times while he's fucking powerless to stop it.

He leaves the room and returns only when he has another beer to take the edge off. Dahlia's sitting with her hands clasped between her knees, taking in the room with careful curiosity. Her eyes linger on the mantle, on the pictures and the awards and the commendations there. Most days, James feels like taking those and shoving them in the trash – or, if he's slightly more sentimental, at least in some box where he doesn't have to look at them. In the end, he just leaves them where they are.

"So why you so into this stuff now?" James finds himself asking, plopping back down into his chair. "I mean, it's been six years. You never thought to try and find out this stuff earlier?"

Dahlia chews on her lip and looks so much like Shepard it's freaky. "I don't know. My dad, he was working on the Citadel during the war. He tried to get us off-planet, but…" She gives this little shrug. "Turns out, we were safer where we were. Once the Reapers claimed the Citadel… and then it exploded, and…" Every muscle in her face is twitching, and he gives her a few notches on his toughness meter for managing not to cry.

"Reaper fuckers" says James, and even after all this time, there's still this heat in his voice he can't get rid of. The hate he feels, he doubts it'll ever go away, and really, he wouldn't want it any other way. That hatred makes him a better soldier, determined to make this new world better than the one that came before because they got a fucking second chance, and how many people can say that when faced with their own annihilation? But it also makes him thankful, because as much as he hates the Reapers, they're dead, they're gone, and he's here, living, breathing, and doing pretty damn well if he does say so.

"I was going to be a musician," she confides, voice carefully neutral, "but I don't think I am, anymore. I think I'm going to enlist."

Wait, did he just hear what he thought he heard? His beer is halfway to his mouth – a mouth that's now hanging open like the hinge on his jaw is faulty. "No kidding?" he says.

Dahlia gives another little shrug, but there's something in it that James doesn't like. It stinks of resignation. "I mean, Commander Shepard's my mom. She helped save Earth. And the galaxy needs people right now to help rebuild. What am I going to do as a musician?"

Some wisp of a long forgotten conversation with Shepard comes back to him. He'd like to say, yeah, I remember every fucking thing Shepard ever said to me, but that's a total lie. He remembers a lot – enough to add some colour to his retellings, though he's been holding back with Dahlia today because there's nothing quite so awkward as telling a young woman all those kinky sex fantasies you had of her mom. Truth is, though, he doesn't remember those early conversations that well, or even all the ones on the _Normandy_.

When he thinks of Shepard, he thinks of the way the light would hit her in the armoury, shadowing half of her face. He thinks of that fucking annoying secretive smile she'd wear, and how he never had any idea what she was smiling about, and how he hoped it was over something he'd said or done… unless she was laughing at him, in which case, he hoped he hadn't come off as too big a moron. He thinks of the way her voice went hoarse from shouting orders at them in combat zones, and how she'd curl up in a chair in the mess with lemon tea in front of her to soothe her throat, and how she hated lemon tea.

Slice of life shit, right there. Those are the details he makes a point not to put into these same retellings. He hoards them for himself.

But this conversation, this one had been important, and this one he _does_ remember.

"She didn't want that life for you," he says, and he's pretty sure he's not pulling off this wise old man – okay, wise _impeccably preserved_ man routine. He's a Commander now, but he stills feels like everything that falls out of his mouth is complete bullshit. He's never gotten the hang of giving pep talks like Shepard. "After you met for the first time, she said she wanted a better life for you than hers."

Dahlia's eyes go wide, and James wonders if maybe he should've kept that to himself before he just decides, _fuck it_. "She said that?" says Dahlia.

"Would I lie to you?" he asks, and seeing her blank stare, realizes that they're virtual strangers and how the hell would she know? He clears his throat. "I mean, yeah. She said that. She was a good soldier, and she liked what she did, but she knew it wasn't for everybody, and I think she kinda hoped it wasn't for you."

"Why?" says Dahlia.

God, that question is a huge mess that James doesn't even want to touch with the longest of sticks. Before the war, he hadn't gotten it either. He'd been grieving because of Fehl, but even so, he couldn't imagine _not_ wanting to be Shepard – or, well, okay, since he was pretty fond of his balls, he couldn't imagine _not_ wanting to accomplish the stuff Shepard had.

Now, after the war, after seeing the ringer she put herself through, he gets it. Sort of. But that _why_ is so mixed up with Shepard's own personality and experiences that even revealing a portion of it feels like a betrayal.

"Being a soldier – being a _good_ soldier – it's kind of one of those things you're born to," he says, trying to sound like he's not pull this out of his ass. "Shepard knew you weren't. She knew that you didn't want to fight. And she was glad, because she always had to fight for everything. She wanted you to have a better life than hers."

"But we only met for a few minutes," protests Dahlia. "I know I told her I wasn't interested in the military, it's true, but that doesn't mean that I'm not cut out for it. Why was she so concerned with my life?"

James takes a slow swig from his beer. "Says the girl who's here asking about Shepard."

Dahlia tenses at that, but says nothing. Neither does he. They sit in silence for a few minutes and James wonders if he should continue telling her about his time on the Normandy or not. Really, he'd rather not, but Dahlia seems genuinely interested in Shepard as person rather than a hero, and apart from a few documentary producers, that's rare enough to win him over. Funny. Years ago, he'd never have thought he'd still be involved in Shepard's life this far down the line.

He sighs, and he knows he's going to regret mentioning any of this, because not only is he really bad at dealing with feelings, but it'll be his head on the plate if this gets out. "I think maybe she cared because in a stupid, selfish way, she figured you were her best chance for a do-over. Her only chance."

"What do you mean?"

"Shepard's childhood was pretty shitty," says James, thinking of how her foster parents had thrown her to the wolves during her trial, and how there'd been something dark slinking beneath the surface. "Your folks looked real great in comparison. I think she just hoped you'd grow up normal and not have to go through all the shit she did." James raises one shoulder in a slow shrug. "I can't claim to completely understand Shepard."

Let her chew on that for a bit. Really, given his affiliation with the Alliance, he should be doing his best to encourage her. The numbers were starting to drop following a huge surge in recruitment following the war. But he could just imagine what Shepard would say if she found out that he'd been luring her daughter in with evil, evil temptations.

"So anyways," he continues, "after Tuchanka, we hit up the Citadel. That salarian councillor – God, what was his name – called Shepard to report that Udina had some real weird paper trails. Bet you can guess what happened then."

"The coup," says Dahlia.

"_Attempted_ coup," corrects James with a twist to his lips.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **James watches Shepard react to the coup.


	9. 7: Bad Blood Runs Long

_**Chapter Seven: Bad Blood Runs Long  
**_

_Dahlia Misra,_

_ I have to admit I don't quite know what you want from me. Commander Shepard and I were never close. While my father travelled with her, helped her in her mission, she and I had only fleeting encounters. The first ended in a reunion between myself and my father. The second, with my father's death._

_ I know something about having a parent who has done impossible things, who's lived a life of violence completely removed from the normal experience of things. The truth is, it wore on my father a great deal, the burden of his actions. He came to peace in the end, after saving the salarian councillor during the Cerberus coup, but I knew that I would never understand. Commander Shepard would be much the same, I think. The level of her accomplishments is unprecedented, but I can only assume that she has the same shadows haunting her as did my father. _

_ What I do know is that my father was a good man, for all his faults, and that, at the end of his life, he prayed that the Commander would be forgiven for her sins. He knew that dark deeds have a price, but that sometimes the price is worth it; he also knew that the Commander would likely never ask to be forgiven, because she believed – as he did – that she'd only done what was necessary._

_ I wish you luck in your endeavours._

_ Kolyat Krios_

**o-o-o**

Shepard came barrelling down to the cargo bay, fully suited up. Her face was illuminated by some inner rage, and James – who'd seen her pissed on more than one occasion – had never seen her quite this angry. Her eyes snapped to him, and he didn't know if he was supposed to salute or what. He had a girlfriend once who got this sort of angry look, usually over nothing, and there wasn't a damn thing he'd ever been able to do to make it right.

"Lieutenant," she barked, "my gun. Now."

This was all fucking confusing, because since when do people need armour on the Citadel, never mind a rifle? He opened his mouth, but she was already two steps ahead of him. She made a slicing motion with her hand to silence him, and he could tell that today wasn't going to be the day where they traded barbs and one-liners in battle.

"Don't argue," she snapped, and wandered over to tell Estaban the game plan. James saw the pilot nod and jog over to the shuttle. That potent smell of eezo filled the hangar bay as she powered up. Shepard circled the area behind the procurement interface like a trapped tiger. James popped the last component in place and walked over to hand her the weapon. She inspected it like she was sure he'd done something wrong, and that was more than a little insulting.

"You going to tell me what's going on, Commander?" he asked.

He regretted his decision to say anything near instantly when she whirled on him. He held up his hands in surrender, but something in her hard façade bent a little, even if it was nowhere near breaking. Teeth gritted, she ground out, "_Cerberus_."

And yeah, it would've been nice to know exactly what Cerberus was up to on the Citadel, but after Mars, James knew that whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good. He shoved his hands in his pockets. He knew more about Cerberus than his limited experience should allow, and that was all thanks to Shepard. Suddenly, those lines around her eyes, the angry set to her mouth made so much more sense. Cerberus was probably second to top on Shepard's shit list, right after the Reapers.

Only the Reapers, for all their intention to destroy all organic life, couldn't compare to the douchebaggery that was Cerberus. From what Shepard had let slip, and from the chatter he'd heard around Alliance HQ when her trial was ongoing – and from the reaction of that Toombs guy when he came to see Shepard (God, just thinking about him made James want to punch something) – Cerberus had fucked up Shepard's life in ways he couldn't imagine.

So yeah, he got why she might be a little bit upset that they were on the fucking Citadel.

"You want me to come with?" he asked.

Shepard let out all the air through her nose, one hand resting on her hip. "No," she said. "You go up to the bridge and sit with Joker. If I need backup, I'll let you know on the comm."

Sidelined again. Fuck. "I could help," he protested.

Even through her anger, she managed to give him a sardonic glance. "And how well do you know the Citadel, Lieutenant? Better than Garrus – the former C-Sec officer – or Liara, who was probably window shopping on the Presidium when our grandparents were in diapers?"

Uh, well, okay she got him there. "Yeah, I see your point." Now he did salute her, and just as the elevator swung open and Scars emerged with Doc in tow.

Shepard nodded to her squad and without word they started over to the shuttle, each caught in their own little world. Only, these worlds weren't filled with rainbows or hot asari dancers or anything; they were filled with death and destruction.

The second that shuttle left the bay, James was on the elevator to the CIC. He walked towards the bridge, noticing the grave atmosphere. Nobody on this boat was stupid, so they all knew that if this coup went through, that was a big fucking problem for the war against the Reapers. Refugees had already started pouring in to makeshift camps in the docks. If the Citadel was taken, god knew what Cerberus was planning on doing with it.

"Hey man," he said, curling an arm over the top of Joker's chair. "Pretty heavy, no?"

"Yeah," said Joker. "Cerberus is like that piece of gum you get stuck to the bottom of your shoe, and no matter how hard you drag it along the sidewalk, you just can't scrape it loose." The pilot's fingers flew over his interface, drawing up schematics of the Citadel and monitoring feeds.

"Damn, you never told me you were a poet," joked James, eyes scanning over the information.

"What can I say? I'm the perfect man." Joker grinned.

"Statistically, there is no such thing as a perfect man," chimed in EDI, causing both men to look at her. "Perfection being a subjective designation dependent on culture and preferences."

"You hear that sound?" asked Joker. "That's my masculinity dying a slow, agonizing death."

EDI opened her mouth, and James was interested to hear what she said, only that was when Shepard's voice came over the comm. It was thick with rage. "When we touch down, I want you to fire to kill. Anyone in yellow and black is fair game. I want to see their brains splattered all over the floor."

"Understood," said Scars.

"Shepard…" said Doc.

"Move out," ordered Shepard, followed by the sound of gunfire.

"That Commander of ours," said Joker, "she's such a people person, you know?"

James' insides were pulling themselves into knots. Fuck, he wanted to be down there with Shepard, saving the day and killing those damned bumblebees. Sure, he could get on board with the fact that they'd brought her back from the dead – even barring for a moment the nightmare that was the scientific procedure that allowed it – because, well, she was Shepard, and he would've been missing something important if he'd never met her. Still, though, he knew how much she hated them, knew how much they hurt her, and he wanted to be down there with her, fighting at her side, watching her six.

"Not easy, is it?" asked Joker.

Jolting, James' eyes swivelled downwards. "What?"

"Being put in the kiddy corner," said Joker, stretching his fingers. "Trust me, I know. I always hate it when Shepard goes on runs without me." He paused mid-stretch. "Not that I've ever been on a ground mission, but, well, you know. Must be even worse for a big beefy marine like you."

Gunfire pittered through the speakers. "Yeah," said James. "I just want to fucking shoot something."

They listened in silence for a bit while Shepard's orders echoed around them. James had to switch his weight from one leg to the other to keep them both from falling asleep. Every time Shepard grunted in exertion, or barked in surprise, James felt as though his heart was going to pop right out of his chest and land on the dash for Joker and EDI and the whole fucking world to see. A fine sheen of sweat covered his head, and he wasn't even the one in the damned line of fire.

When Shepard found the salarian councillor, when it was revealed that Udina was behind the whole fucking thing, that was when James nearly ran down to his armour and demanded that Estaban drive him over to wherever she was. He could only imagine what she was going through. No, scratch that, he didn't a goddamned clue. He remembered her throwaway comment to Anderson the first time he saw her, the one about Udina being a toddler at the big kid's table, but even so, Shepard didn't hate the councillor, not exactly. And for the guy to throw in with Cerberus of all people…

There was a loud burst and static flooded over the comm. "What just happened?" demanded James.

"It would appear that the assassin overloaded Shepard's systems," said EDI, seemingly nonplussed.

"Get them back up right now, EDI," snapped Jeff. "What if she needs help?"

"Impossible," said EDI. "Hers is a closed system, and even if it weren't, the charge to her circuitry would've disrupted the operations that allowed me to interface remotely."

"Shit," said Joker, and James couldn't agree enough. Even though there was nothing they could do, even though they were sitting blind, neither of them moved for a good ten minutes. James would bet all his poker savings that they were both just hoping that her comm unit would magically repair itself and that they'd be able to swoop in and save the day.

James' insides felt like a garbage disposal.

"Jeff," said EDI, "I've managed to hack some of the Citadel security feeds. I may be able to gain control so we're able to watch the Commander's movements."

"Do it."

The vid screen popped into life in front of them, and James' first thought was, _what the fuck_. Shepard, Scars and Doc had their guns trained on Udina. That wasn't what bothered him. What bothered him was that Major Traitor stood between Shepard and Udina, his gun pointed at her pretty face. James' hand contracted tightly around Joker's headrest, and his vision swam with white. All he could say was, it was a damn good thing that for the Major that he was out there and James was in here, or there'd be a smoking crater where the second human Spectre used to be.

"Jesus, Kaidan," hissed Joker, leaning forward. "What are you doing?"

Shepard's face was stony. They couldn't hear what she was saying, but her brows were drawn together in concentration. Kaidan answered back, but neither one dropped their guns. Behind them, Udina marched up to a console to do… hell, James had no idea. The asari councillor walked up to him, placed a hand on his arm, and was rewarded with a shove that sent her sprawling. Shepard's brows dropped lower, but she didn't seem to be yelling.

There was this moment where he was sure he was about to see one of the two human spectres die, but then, like he actually had some fucking sense or something, the Major lowered his gun and turned to Udina. Shepard came to stand next to him, and all the guns were finally pointed where they actually belonged.

Except, you know, for the one that Udina pulled out and pointed at his fellow councillor. If you wanted the definition of a madman, all you had to do was pull up the galactic codex entry, and there would be Udina's smug, ugly face. He was screaming something, but then there he jerked back, red blooming in his chest. His hand trembling, he tried to keep his gun pointed. Of course, that became a moot point because then his head exploded.

James couldn't stop the grim smile from stretching across his face. He wasn't sure how he felt when he saw a nearly identical one stretch across Shepard's face. The Major, on the other hand, looked at the thing that used to be Udina and his face contorted like he was getting ready to be sick. James wanted to tell him that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't cut out for this war stuff. It was one thing to be a soldier in peace time – it was quite another in a literal life or death war.

There really wasn't much to see after that. That Bailey guy showed up with a few C-Sec officers and escorted everyone from view. Joker hovered around the Citadel for a while until the docking bays were back under official command. The docking bay hissed into place, and James stationed himself near the door to thank the returning heroes for the show.

Only, Shepard wasn't with them. It was Scars and Doc, both exhausted as fuck. Scars took off immediately. Doc gave him a small smile upon noticing his frown, but it wasn't exactly happy.

"She's not with us," said Doc, laying her hand on his arm. "A – a friend of hers was injured saving the salarian councillor. She's with him now."

James forced himself to nod, to _not_ ask exactly how close a friend they were talking about, because it wasn't any of his business and it wasn't like he had a claim on Shepard or anything, and for Christ's sake, the guy was injured doing something fucking commendable. If Doc noticed anything was up, though, she gave no indication. She just patted his arm before dragging herself away, presumably for a nice long nap or at least a shower.

"Doc," he called, and she turned. "You wanna give me your pistol, there? I can clean it for you."

Her smile was brilliant, and James was reminded why asari were considered the babes of the galaxy. He walked up to her, hands out stretched. The gun was a comforting weight in his hands, and more importantly, it gave him something to do. They walked back together in silence, entering the elevator without a word.

It was only when the doors shut that Doc turned to him. "This war is going to get worse before it gets better, isn't it?"

"Looks that way."

One of her hands was scratching at her chin, and she was shooting him little glances like a girl with a crush. He knew that wasn't it though, and from scuttlebutt aboard the ship, he wasn't really her type – her type being female, badass as hell, and sporting the name _Shepard_. James didn't know how true that was, but he didn't much care either. If she liked Shepard, that was up to her. There was some saying about stones and glass houses, wasn't there?

"I want to thank you for looking out for Shepard," she said, finally. Her shoulders drooped after she said it, like it had been this huge burden on her. James couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

He shrugged, feeling the back of his neck go warm. "I didn't do much."

There was this really measured expression on her face. James wasn't exactly top tier clearance, but he'd gleaned from the off-hand conversations aboard the ship that Doc was a pretty powerful information broker – Donnelly had even mentioned that she might be _the_ Shadow Broker, though James found that hard to figure. Still, he didn't like that expression, because it said that she knew a hell of a lot more than him, and though James would never have made it without people who had more between their ears than him, he didn't like the weight of it being thrown all on him. Made him nervous.

"You had her back," said Doc softly. "It was more than some of us."

"I was her jailer," said James, embarrassed. "It was my job to watch her back."

Those blue eyes levelled on him. "You weren't her jailer back on Omega, hm? And you weren't on duty when you defended her in that brawl in Vancouver."

Okay, now, that right there was fucking creepy. James couldn't help but wonder how much else she knew, because damn, he had some things that were just private. He didn't want her to know about those long showers, or the way he watched Shepard even when he didn't have to, or how he'd done nothing but gush (in his own, manly way) to his uncle months ago when he met her for the first time.

He didn't want her to know that Shepard had confided in him. That wasn't supposed to involve anyone else. That was between him and Shepard.

"Guess not," he said.

The elevator door swung open and Doc walked off. She turned and smiled at him in a way that wasn't even the least bit comforting, like she knew all his secrets, like she guessed at his feelings, but she didn't say a damn word. She just walked away.

If he hadn't already been pissed, now he was. Maybe he didn't even want to clean her damn gun for her. Of course, he knew he was going to do it anyways, because it would be his fucking fault if it backfired or locked up in combat and even though he was freaked out by her spy network, he didn't exactly want Doc dead. Oh, and Shepard would be the mother of all angry at him too. So there was that.

He stomped over to his workbench and started dissembling it. Estaban was working on the Kodiak, but he came up for air and James could feel those blue eyes on the back of his neck.

"Problem, Mr Vega?"

"Not a one," lied James, dismantling the pistol into its various parts. It had definitely seen (and dealt) its fair share of damage on this particular run.

"You're a lousy liar," said Estaban.

James really had nothing to say to that, so he kept his trap shut. He cleaned that pistol within an inch of its life, trying hard not to think of Shepard. He was so into it that he didn't hear the footsteps until they were behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw Shepard there. She was still in her armour, and there was blood on her face. She unholstered her rifle and her SMG and set them both on the table. She raised her hands as if to begin taking them apart, but then dropped them.

"You mind, James?" she said.

His throat clamped up tight, but he shook his head. She nodded, absently and was getting ready to leave when James touched her arm. She stopped mid-step, peeking up at him through her lashes.

"You okay, Lola?" he asked softly. "Doc said a friend of yours was injured."

She squared her shoulders and inhaled deeply. "Thane, yeah." From the weight of those words, James knew nothing good was coming. Shepard didn't seem able to continue.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She shrugged, but it was too lopsided to be genuine. "Thane was raised with violence," she said. "It was who he was. He tried to live the normal life and it backfired. He joined me to fight the Collectors because he thought for sure that he was going to die as he'd lived – with blood and death." She sucked in another deep breath. "I thought he found peace on the Citadel, finally. But then it turned out he was right."

James rubbed his thumb over the rippled ceramic of her greaves. What he should've done is keep his mouth shut, but he said, "Reminded you of you, huh?"

Shepard swallowed thickly then, ripping her eyes away from him to look at nothing in particular. Her brows came together. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right," said James, removing his hand. "My mistake then."

"James," she began, running a hand through her hair before crossing her arms in front of her. "This isn't Earth. I can't keep coming to you with all my problems. It's not professional. I've got to be a big girl and take care of myself."

There was that word again. _Professional_. God, James was really starting to hate that word. He forced himself to take a step back, to act like that didn't sting even though it fucking did. "You know," he said, "keeping all your shit pent up, it's not always the greatest way of coping. It can make you do some dumb shit."

"Like crash a shuttle into another shuttle?" she said lightly.

"For example," he conceded. "I'm just saying, you're dealing with some pretty heavy stuff right now. Might be, you just need to talk to someone." James shrugged. "If you want it to be me, great, I'll listen. But you've got some good friends on board Shepard."

He rethought that last sentence a few times, wondering if it implied that he _wasn't_ a good friend, and oh shit, why the hell can't he ever say what he means, but then it didn't matter because she placed a hand on his chest and pretty much interrupted his internal ramblings.

"Sometimes you've just got to go for it," she said, and he felt a spark of pleasure when he realized she was quoting his own words back at him, those words uttered before she met her daughter for the first time.

"Great advice," he said with a half-smile. "Bet someone real smart told you that."

Shepard didn't smile back. Probably, the grief was still too fresh. He got that, he did. He wanted to place his hand over hers, and was actually considering doing just that, when she pulled it away, eliminating the chance.

"I need to go get cleaned up," she said, backing away. "Kaidan might come down later. If he needs anything, you help him out, okay?"

It was like a bottle of something cold had been shattered over his head. His jaw stopped working. Something red hot pumped through his veins where blood used to be. He ground out, "_What_?"

She was deadly serious when she said, "Play nice."

"But…"

Her face brokered no argument. "I said, _play nice_."

And with that, she was gone and he was left wondering exactly what her relationship with the Major was, that she forgave him after he pointed a fucking gun in her face. Shepard didn't have a reputation as the most forgiving person. She wasn't a psychotic bitch, no, but still. And then there was that conversation between him and the Major back on Earth when James asked if the other man knew the Commander. The Major's vague and fucking annoying answer had been, _I used to._

What the hell did that even mean? And what did it mean when coupled with that sad, wistful tone the guy had used to say it? Jesus. James had wondered about it for a half a second when it actually happened, but then he'd been distracted by, you know, surviving and the goddamned Reapers blowing the shit out of everything.

It wasn't pleasant, that moment when James realized he was jealous of Major Fucking Alenko.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **James struggles over the nature of Shepard and Kaidan's relationship.


	10. 8: Undiscovered Relics

_Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews. I sincerely appreciate it, especially since this particular story (or, all right, writing in general) has been tricky for me lately. You guys give me the impetus to continue! :)  
_

* * *

_**Chapter **__**Eight: Undiscovered Relics  
**_

_I was not informed that the Commander had an offspring. I do not know why you are writing to me. Her actions should speak for themselves._

_ I am a warrior. I have always been a warrior. In my cycle, the Reapers had overrun our empire, and there was no choice. If you did not fight, you would die. There is much that I do not understand about this cycle, and more that I do not like. This pitiful form of communication, for instance. But I understood and I respected Commander Shepard. She, too, was a warrior. _

_ Her singular purpose was to destroy the Reapers. This, she accomplished. She did what no other cycle, not even mine, managed. That is her legacy. I doubt it is one you can fully understand or live up to._

_ Javik_

**o-o-o**

Complete bullshit, is what it was.

There was the Major, eating his cornflakes or whatever like he was so damned slick, so fucking cool. James had news for the Major – he wasn't. In fact, on James' shit list, Alenko was sitting pretty near the top, which was pretty impressive when you took into account the fact that they were fighting giant sentient machines intent on destroying everything.

James flipped his eggs a little too forcefully and swore when the yoke erupted all over the pan. Without looking he could tell that the douchebag was looking, probably smirking to himself, having a little laugh, yeah, that was it. Well, James wasn't the one eating cornflakes, was he? Hell no, because unlike some people, James knew how to cook.

And yeah, okay, the Major hadn't done anything wrong – okay, hadn't done anything wrong since he pointed a gun at Shepard, which, by the way, was still such a fucking bullshit move that his recent good behaviour didn't even matter. The Major was going to be paying off the karma from that incident for a long time to come. And if karma needed a little bit of help from Lieutenant James Vega, well, he'd never been the type to turn down a pretty lady.

"I think the eggs are already dead," commented the Major from where he was sitting.

James knew what else he wanted dead, and it was sitting in the mess, eating cornflakes. Why the hell had Shepard let the guy who almost killed her back on the ship? The guy who questioned her the whole way through Mars? He could see it, maybe, if the two of them were good friends, but no matter which way James figured it, he couldn't see how that was the case. He'd been stuck to Shepard like flies on tape during her incarceration. Nobody got to her without going through him – especially not after that guy Toombs – and so he could say with absolute certainty that the Major had never come to see Shepard. Not once.

So let's review the evidence. Fact: the Major didn't come to see Shepard during her incarceration, despite the fact that she clearly wasn't going anywhere and he was on Earth. Fact: when they did team up for the Mars mission, the Major bitched like a girl left at prom because he was convinced that Shepard was still with Cerberus. Fact: he hadn't trusted Shepard's word that she wasn't with Cerberus, despite the fact that it was pretty common knowledge that she'd been going toe to toe with those indoctrinated bastards since leaving Earth.

Fact: Shepard hadn't shared with the Major half the stuff she'd shared with James, including her creepy as hell resurrection. (James couldn't be a hundred percent on this, but considering the Major's trust issues, and the fact that he seemed to think that Shepard and Cerberus had this hooker-pimp relationship going on, he felt it was safe to assume.)

So the argument that they were close friends held little to no water, thanks very much.

A sharp, irritating thought crossed through his mind, and he grimaced.

"You okay, Lieutenant?" asked the Major.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," replied James, adding hot sauce to his eggs. He didn't bother to look up. Every time he took in those brown eyes and that chiselled jaw, the latter just seemed to be begging for a nice, fist shaped bruise.

Doc came out of her room then, interrupting the testosterone that James was flinging in the Major's direction – whether the guy knew it or not – and walked directly to Alenko. She set her blue hands on the table. "Kaidan, Shepard would like you to suit up. She's taking us out into the field."

James' hand tightened around his spatula, and he had to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from saying anything.

"Oh?" said the Major, and sat up taller. "Where we headed?"

Doc paused a moment, and then said, real soft, "Eden Prime."

Well that was something even James hadn't expected. He looked over at the two of them, and if he'd liked the Major a little better, he might even have felt bad for the guy. There were clearly some old ghosts hanging around from that mission. James tried to imagine what it would be like, to have been there on Shepard's first (or last, depending on how you looked at it) run before becoming a Spectre. Whole squads killed, first ever Reaper sighted.

Grudgingly, he could admit that maybe the Major was the best choice, if only for sentimental reasons. That being said, he'd never known Shepard to be overly sentimental.

"I'll – I'll get my gear," said Kaidan, pushing his bowl away. He and Doc walked away, conversing with each other quietly.

James dumped his admittedly lacklustre eggs onto a plate and sat down at the table, devouring them with gusto. What he wanted was a straight answer from Shepard about why she allowed the Major on board, but he doubted he get it even if he did have the balls to ask, which he most definitely didn't. He might be sweet on her, and he might be harbouring some pretty sexy fantasies about her – the latest one took place behind the crates in the docking bay, her biting into his shoulder to muffle the sound so that Estaban and the others didn't hear – but he was under no illusions about where this confrontation would lead. She could hand his ass to him even on an off day. And, oh wait, what was that? She'd done so on more than one occasion. So that was a no-go.

When he finished eating, he picked up his plate and then paused. After an internal war, he picked up the Major's too and brought them both to the sink for a wash. But that was it. James wasn't doing any more favours for that guy.

Then he wandered down to the cargo bay. Estaban's shuttle was gone, so James assumed Shepard and company had already made the drop to the planet. That was fine with him. The last thing he wanted to see was Shepard headed off to battle with Major Trust Issues. Actually, the very last thing he wanted to see was when she returned with him. Again.

He taped up his hands and had a go at his punching bag. If he wasn't going to be down with the ground team, shooting up hostiles, this was probably the next best thing. He let himself be angry, the kind of angry he'd been holding back because it resulted in shit like Omega. He went at that bag until he could barely feel his hands anymore.

Estaban was watching him when he finally took a break, sitting in the entrance of the Kodiak.

"Enjoying the view?" asked James, throwing the man a grin.

He got a grin back. "No complaints. Was wondering what got you so riled you had to take it out on that poor bag, though. Even for you, this is a tad excessive."

James hesitated, but then he remembered what he'd said to Shepard about sharing the burden, blah blah blah. He had to talk to someone or he'd be a hypocrite, and somehow she'd find out and use it as an excuse to hide away. So he said, "You think Shepard and the Major are, you know, together?"

Estaban's eyebrows were nearly at his hairline. "Together?" he echoed. "I'm guessing you don't mean down there on Eden Prime."

With more than a touch of irritation, James began ripping the tape off his hands. "Forget it."

"No, no, wait a second," said Estaban, standing and walking over, one hand raised as if it would stop time or something. "Why do you ask?"

Crumpling the tape into a ball and tossing it into the trash, James crossed his arms and leaned back against the crates with a huff. "I'm trying to figure out why she let the Major back on board. He didn't exactly have her back. Wouldn't trust her at her word. Jesus, the guy has an armed standoff with her, and she welcomes him back onto the ship like it's nothing. I just want to know what the deal is. I don't trust him."

"Now, don't bite my head off for mentioning this – but it wasn't so long ago that you were second guessing Shepard's decisions?"

His temper flared a little at that, mostly because James knew it was true and Estaban wasn't saying anything that James hadn't repeated to himself. "That's different," said James, and at Estaban's amusement, insisted, "It is! I thought it was bullshit that we were leaving Earth to be decimated, and I told her so." James took a deep breath. "But I never really doubted _her_. Once I calmed down enough, I realized that she was right. Alenko followed her orders but didn't trust her motivations. There's a difference."

Estaban crossed his arms too, mirroring James. His face was a closed book. "I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me."

"Shoot," said James, even though he had a real bad feeling about this.

"Are you in love with Shepard?" asked Estaban without a trace of amusement. No good humour, even.

He wanted to deny it, wanted to laugh it off, but those pretty blue eyes of Estaban's made him feel like he was in confessional for the first time since he was fifteen. James banged his head back against the crate, staring at the ceiling. "Fuck, I don't know," he said honestly. "She's just – she's not like anybody else, you know? Seeing her outside her role as Commander, man, I wish you could see it, Estaban."

He was aware of how this all sounded. He might as well buy a lined notebook the next time they were on the Citadel, along with a fucking ink well, and start writing crappy, high school level love poems. He doubted he'd be the first to write them either. Hell, there were probably whole forums on the extranet devoted to Shepard inspired poetry. He made a mental note to look some up later.

"I've seen it," said Estaban. At James' startled glance, he smiled a little. "I was… I was missing Robert. She didn't order me off the ship, but she did ask nicely if I'd go, for her. When I did, she met me there and we didn't say much, just sort of watched the scenery."

And this was too deep, so James did what he did best. "You sweet on Shepard too, Estaban?"

Estaban chuckled. "If she were a man, you can bet I'd be all over that."

"If she were a man, this would be a completely different conversation," said James. "You'd be the one spilling your guts and I'd be the wingman."

"Have you told her?"

James stared at Estaban like the guy had just announced he was born with two dicks. "Fuck no. Are you _loco_?"

Estaban holds up his hands to placate the other man. "It was just a thought. No need to get touchy."

"You think I should?" asked James, though every bit of him railed against the thought. Worst case scenario, he makes an ass out of himself and Shepard gets uncomfortable, transferring him somewhere else. It wasn't just about not being on the Normandy, not anymore, but after Tuchanka, he now knew definitively that Shepard wasn't super human, he didn't want to be somewhere else with no one to watch her back.

He gave the mental finger to that part of his brain that brought up the rest of the crew, and one human Major in particular, because they did _not_ count.

"Dunno," said Estaban. "You think she feels the same way?"

"Fuck if I know," groused James, banging his head lightly on the crates behind him. "I may like Shepard, but Jesus, a more difficult to understand woman I've yet to find."

Estaban was quiet for a while, running one hand over his jaw. He got this faraway look in his eye, and James knew that he was thinking of Robert. Although the shuttle pilot had never seen fit to tell James all the gory details – and James really wasn't complaining, because even talking about his _own_ love life (or lack thereof as was sometimes the case) was enough to send him into a stasis of discomfort – although he didn't know everything, he knew that both Estaban and Robert had been in the Alliance together. That just raised so many questions, first and foremost being _how_?

"It's not like we've got a lot of time left, James," said Estaban, voice near a whisper. "If you've got the chance to be with someone you love – even a slim chance – you should go for it. We might all die tomorrow."

James threw a gentle punch at the pilot. "Us? Dead? Nah, we're too damn pretty to die."

That earned him a smile. "True."

James opened his mouth to thank Estaban for the advice even though he wasn't sure whether or not he was going to follow it. He didn't get the chance though, 'cause Shepard's voice fizzled through Estaban's comm asking for a pickup. Estaban shrugged as if to say _duty calls_ and wandered back towards the shuttle.

As he watched the Kodiak fly away, James thought about what had been said. Really, he just needed to man up and tell the truth. He couldn't hide it forever, even if he had managed thus far. The only thing that really stopped him, though, was Shepard's reaction. He couldn't even begin to guess what it would be. Anger, probably. Maybe some disappointment. Eventually, her practicality would win out and she'd either transfer him away or he'd be permanently stuck in the cargo bay without a single word passing between them ever again. Neither scenario sounded particularly appealing.

He didn't delude himself for a moment that it would involve professions of love and roses and shit. Not only were their circumstances absolutely dark, but Shepard just wasn't that sort of woman. He wasn't that sort of man either, come to think of it.

He pretended to be working when the shuttle flew back into the cargo bay, but he was keeping one eye on it the whole time. The door popped open and out came Shepard, and she wasn't alone. Alenko had his arm around her shoulder and Shepard was holding him up with an arm around the Major's waist. A strike of pain lanced across the Major's face, and Shepard's face was equally grim. She noticed James and used her head to gesture to the Major's weapons.

"What happened?" asked James, a little smug but trying to hide it. They were all supposed to be in this together, no matter his personal beef with the Major, and no matter that this specific Major was a tool.

But at least the guy had the grace to look sheepish. "Cerberus Phantom. Snuck up on me. Grazed my right side."

"You should've told me that your biotics weren't fully operational," snapped Shepard. "When you said your implant got rattled, you played it off as no big thing." Shepard's hand tightened on the arm around her neck. "You need to tell me these things."

"I know," said the Major. "I'm sorry."

They shared this long glance that James did not like the look of. He grabbed Alenko's weapons and then gestured to Shepard's in askance. She nodded her head like she was being harried, so James took those too. Arms full, he wandered back to his bench, trying real hard not to think of the scene that lay behind him.

"Liara, can you take Kaidan up to the medbay?" asked Shepard

"Of course," said Doc, but not like she was excited at the prospect. More like, it was Christmas morning and her parents had just told her that she had to wait until after breakfast for presents.

"Good," said Shepard. "I've got to get our guest settled."

Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the phone. James peered over his shoulder in time to see this bug guy hop off the shuttle. All four yellow, creepy eyes peered around the cargo bay, and if James didn't know better, he'd say that emotion plastered all over that alien face was scorn. Joker wasn't going to be pleased, and maybe not EDI either since she _was_ the ship, though James could never figure out what was going on in her electronic head.

"In my cycle, we had much more efficient forms of transportation," said the guy, voice deep. He didn't look like any race that James recognized, but something about him was vaguely familiar.

"I'm sure you did," said Shepard flatly. James recognized the tone – it was one his mom had used when she'd gotten so fed up with someone but been unable (for whatever reason) to say so aloud. "But we're not in your cycle anymore, we're in mine. Shall we get you settled?"

Joker came on over the PA. "Commander, Admiral Anderson's on the vid comm for you."

"Son of a bitch," hissed Shepard, running a hand through her hair. She stood there thinking for a few moments before her eyes sought out James. There was something like annoyance there, but not quite and James couldn't figure out what the fuck that was supposed to mean. Finally, she crooked a finger at him – that was an image he was going to use later, albeit in a totally different context – and feeling some reservation, he walked over.

Shepard took him by the shoulder and angled them away from… whoever and whatever that guy was. She leaned in close enough that he could smell sweat and dust on her. "I need to take this call from Anderson. Can you take Javik here to the empty cargo bay on Engineering?"

"Commander," he said, eyes flickering to the where this Javik guy was standing with his arms crossed, "no disrespect meant, but what the fuck is he?"

"That, James, is the last living Prothean." She smiled when she said it, but it wasn't exactly happy. In fact, there were dark circles around her eyes and she looked strained, like the skin of her face had been pulled too tight over the bones. "Will you do this for me?"

"Yeah. Sure. Of course," he said, even though Javik suddenly became a whole lot less appealing – which wasn't saying much 'cause four-eyed bug men had never been high on James' list of fetishes.

Didn't matter, because when Shepard offered a small smile and squeezed his shoulder, it was totally worth it. That moment stretched out like the cheese on those fresh pizza's from Dino's in his old neighbourhood. Shepard seemed to feel it too, because she removed her hand, face buttoning up. She nodded, turned to Javik. "James here is going to help you get settled, Javik."

The… Prothean (Jesus Christ, life with Shepard could not be real, it just couldn't be) turned those eyes on him and said nothing.

James, not really sure how to deal with a Prothean since he wasn't always super great with the races he already knew, stuck out his hand. "Pleased to meet you."

Javik just stared at his hand, and made no move to uncross his arms. Alrighty then.

"Come on you two," said Shepard, and this weird gang of theirs made their way to the elevator. Shepard took a deep breath and crossed her arms. It was weird to see her and the Prothean side by side. It wasn't that they looked alike – Shepard was hot and, well, not to mince words or anything but the Prothean was butt ugly – but they just had this same badass, contained air about them. Which was fucking ridiculous, because Shepard was nothing like this Javik. Even if they'd just met, James could tell the guy was an asshole, Prothean or not.

The elevator dinged on Engineering, and James got off. "Let's get you settled, big guy."

Was there a special verb to describe four eyes glaring instead of two? James doubted it, but decided he might have to ask Doc later. If anyone knew, it would be her. From inside the elevator, there was a cough that sounded like it might be trying real hard to be a laugh. Shepard was scratching her chin, eyes on the ceiling, the corner of her mouth twitching.

Javik got off the elevator.

"I'll be just upstairs," said Shepard, managing to be serious. "If you need anything, Javik, feel free to ask any of the crew."

The Prothean responded with this grave nod. James was starting to wonder if they were a fucking telepathic species or something. Wouldn't that be their luck, to find an ancient alien who wouldn't speak? Or, maybe, he communicated by pheromones like the elcor or with bioluminescence like the hanar and they just couldn't see it. If that were the case, James was willing to bet either or both of them were sending out a giant _fuck you_ message loud and clear to anyone who could see it.

Or maybe, this guy was just moody as hell.

Still the guy followed him down the right hall. The door opened before them. Boxes and crates lined the room, and some wires hung from the ceiling. Still, it was mostly empty.

"Well, here we are," said James lamely. "Need anything?"

"I will require basins of water," said Javik. "I need to clean the remnants of the ship from my skin."

"Er, okay," said James, scratching his head. He had no idea what the hell that was supposed to mean. "I'll see what we can do about that. No promises before we dock next, though."

Javik grunted and sat down, back to James who didn't know what he was supposed to do now. Sit like a nanny with the 50,000 year old alien? Tell the guy some jokes? Play poker? What did Shepard want from him?

Without turning, Javik said, "You care for her. The Commander. This is foolish. You are at war. Now is not the time for petty emotions. One must rise above one's base passions if one is to defeat the Reapers."

James didn't know how the fuck this guy knew that, but he couldn't help the frustration that woke in his gut and called out for blood. He crossed his arms, shifting his weight to one foot. It would put him at a disadvantage if the Prothean decided to attack, but from that smug tone, James somehow didn't think it would be a problem.

"Oh really?" said James sourly. "And how'd that work out for you in your cycle?"

That was a low blow, and James knew it, but he somehow couldn't manage to give a shit.

Seemingly unmoved, Javik said, "Sarcasm. A primitive defense mechanism." He sniffed, as if smelling a full dumpster on a hot August day. "I don't know why the Commander holds you in such esteem."

_That _got James' attention. "Wait, what? She said that?"

Javik turned slightly, the look on his face the same one James usually got after he asked a particularly stupid question in school. "She did not have to," he said.

Which meant just about fuck all, but made James throw his shoulders back and grin like a doofus regardless. What he really wanted to do was ask this Javik guy – since he was apparently Captain Observation – what he'd noticed about the Major and Shepard, but he held back. Even for him, that was crossing a line. For right now, it was enough to know that Shepard held him in _such esteem_.

It was like he'd been accepted into the Alliance all over again, and this new evidence combined with that smile of Shepard's made him consider, really for the first time, that maybe he should follow Estaban's suggestion.

"Leave me," said Javik. "Your enamored pheromones are most irritating."

James left, but not before thinking, _yeah well fuck you too, buddy_. He hoped that message went through loud and clear.

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**Next Chapter: **While on Arrae, an injury rocks James' world.


	11. 9: The Blood Red Kiss of Regret

_****Hey all - thank you for your continued support! Just a little memo here to say that updates my be sporadic across the board for the next little while. Not only is this story punching me in the gut, but I've been named Lead Fiction Editor for a local literary journal. I'm very blessed (and can't quite get over the feeling that I bluffed my way in somehow), but it means that I now have, quite literally, a million writing-related things to do outside of my fics. I'll update when I can - see: when inspiration strikes - and I hope you'll bear with me. I am quite determined to finish all my projects here, and maybe start a few new ones as well. :)  
_

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_**Chapter Nine: The Blood Red Kiss of Regret**_

_I don't really know what to write here. I had no idea you existed, but that shouldn't surprise me. While the rest of us poured out our hearts to Shepard, she rarely did the same in return. She played things close, closer than I did, and that's saying something, trust me._

_ I guess the best thing I could tell you is not to lose sight of the woman underneath the legend. I did that for the better part of my friendship with her. I was so captivated by her strength, by her beauty, that I forgot she was only human. With the things she did, it wasn't that hard – wasn't that hard to fall in love with the idea of her. She projected it so readily, that sometimes I wonder if that wasn't her plan the whole time, to keep people away by sending them spinning after a woman who didn't exist. _

_ By the time I realized that I was in love with a mirage, it was too late. I often wish I'd had the opportunity to know her before she fell into her role as our saviour. I would've saved myself a lot of heartache, and maybe saved her some too. _

_ What I'm saying is, I don't know if I'm the best person to ask about this stuff. I do know, though, that she never did anything lightly. She always thought everything the whole way through. If she gave you up, if she never mentioned you, she had good reason._

_ If I were you, I'd look up Commander James Vega. He did her right the first time, and might be more help._

_ I hope you find what you're looking for._

_ Rear Admiral Kaidan Alenko _

**o-o-o**

So, remind him why they were on their way to save some Cerberus scientists? Weren't they the bad guys?

No, according to Shepard. These were defectors who had seen Cerberus' real colours and were coming forward for protection. While that was all fine and dandy, James couldn't shake the feeling that there was something real messed up about this. Sure, these people had no idea that their boss was some batshit insane, pro-human terrorist, totally. It stretched the imagination a little bit. He'd talked to Joker a little bit about Cerberus, and the pilot had mentioned that even though he was taking _crazy_ to whole new levels now, the Illusive Man had never been particularly altruistic.

Which made James incredibly leery about people who had joined him. What it all boiled down to, as far as James could tell, was money. With his old man, he'd seen what greed could do to a person; sometimes money just wasn't worth it. But, with a glance at Shepard, he decided he'd wait until he met these scientists for himself. If she thought they were worth saving, he was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

But if they put even one fucking toe out of line…

He guessed what bugged him the most was the idea that these scientists they were going to see – any of them could have been a part of Shepard's resurrection. Hell, any one of them could have been a part of Akuze. Had Shepard even thought of that? She was standing, holding onto the railing above the doorway, eyes focused on nothing underneath her helmet visor. Her free hand was clenched at her side. Yeah, she'd thought of it.

"Are we sure about this?" asked the Major, and James felt a stab of annoyance, not so much that the guy would question Shepard as the fact that James was thinking the same thing.

"Nope," said Shepard, turning to face Alenko. "They could all be murderers and torturers. This could be a trap. But we need scientists to build the Crucible and if there's even a chance these people are ready to defect, we have to follow up on that." Which made sense, but nobody in the shuttle was comforted. Shepard attempted to lighten the mood. "Besides, how can I pass up a vacation to the always lovely Noveria?"

The Major snorted, a smile twisting his lips. "Well, there is that."

There was something James was missing and he really wanted to ask to be included, but this wasn't lunch time cliques here. He crossed his arms and set his chin to his chest, taking deep breaths. Of all the squad combinations, this was the one he dreaded the most. Yeah, maybe he was a bastard for hating the way Shepard and Alenko were grinning at each other. Actually, scratch that, he was most definitely a bastard, but he couldn't really help it. He was like a fucking two year old with a new sibling – he wanted all the affection for himself, damnit.

And God knows, there was little enough to go around as it was.

"Preparing for descent," said Estaban from the pilot's chair. "And heads up, Commander – looks like the base is under attack."

"Of course it is," said Shepard with a sigh, pulling her rifle off her back. "Everybody prepped?""

Both men stood and nodded at her. James jammed a thermal clip into his assault rifle. The shuttle swung over the landing pad and everyone hopped out, Shepard taking point. They had the high ground, overlooking the Cerberus troops. They were closing in on some scientists shooting from behind cover. From the wide angle of the shots, it was clear these people had no formal weapons training. Great, just great. Shepard ducked next to the railing and lined up her shot, taking out one of the centurions.

Immediately, the troops turned to assess this new threat. Shepard's smile was feral, the way it always was whenever they fought Cerberus. She was like one of those old fashioned big game hunters that got a thrill from taking down a mighty foe – except that in this case, the foe wasn't a giant, rabid lion but human beings. Or, no, fuck that. Whatever these Cerberus troops were, James didn't think they could be considered anything close to human anymore.

"Ready for a party, gentlemen?" asked Shepard.

James fired on a few stock troops trying to make their way up the ramp. "And if I'd known, I would've brought my dancing shoes." His heart leapt to his throat at her laughter.

But after that, joviality was abandoned for hard work. With those Cerberus forces pinned in the middle, that centre area should've been a killing ground. Between them on the one side and the scientists on the other, it didn't matter how shitty they could shoot, those Cerberus guy should've been riddled with holes. So how come they weren't?

Shepard was thinking the same thing. "Something's wrong," she said, reloading and blowing the head off a phantom creeping their way. "We need to push forward."

"Won't that drive the enemy towards the civilians?" objected the Major.

"You see anybody shooting from over there?" Shepard slammed a new thermal clip home. "No? Me neither. Either they're all dead, or they're sitting scared. If it's the first, it doesn't matter if we drive them forward. If it's the second, all the troops have to do is sneak around the perimeter, kill the civilians and they'll have a straight run to the door. We need to stop that from happening."

"The locked door," pointed out Alenko.

"Don't put anything against these Cerberus bastards," said Shepard, voice rough.

James nearly opened his mouth to ask if they weren't technically headed to save some of _those Cerberus bastards_ but decided against it. She was getting enough flak from Alenko as it was, and he trusted her call. He leaned forward. "I'll take point and you and the Major follow?"

Her eyes touched on his face for a moment. There was an unspoken question between them.

"Hey," he said, "I'll be fine. I'm built like a rhino, remember?"

He got no reply to that, but she did jerk her head towards the ramp down. James scrambled forward. He started around the corner, firing into the chests of the troops he found there before rolling into cover. Of course, he didn't count on those SOBs being quite as courageous as they were, because for every one he picked off three more seemed to appear. Heads were exploding around him, and one centurion got way too close only to be thrown back a few dozen feet in a haze of blue biotics. James had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that it was pretty fucking impressive - but he still didn't like the Major.

He kept advancing and shooting until he couldn't find anyone left to shoot at and he heard Shepard yell _clear_ from her vantage point. She came jogging up next to him, slapping him on the shoulder, but she didn't stop. She booked it over to those crates where the Cerberus civilians were supposed to be, only they were a little more dead than James had anticipated. He felt bad even knowing what they'd done, what they'd been a part of. It never got easier, seeing non-combatants get gunned down.

"Shepard," wheezed someone, and James rounded the last crate to see a downed man bleeding from a wound in his side. He obviously wasn't a scientist judging from the build of him, but the lightweight armour he wore didn't speak to soldiering either.

"Jacob Taylor," said Shepard, surprise evident in her voice and James remembered what that Jack chick had said about keeping man candy on board the _Normandy_. He might even have been jealous, only it was clear as day that neither one was carrying a torch for the other. 'Course, that might also have been the fact that Taylor there was currently bleeding all over the pavement.

"Didn't really expect to see you here, Commander," said Taylor with a bit of a smile. It turned into a wince as Shepard applied medigel.

"Well, you know me," she said, voice friendly even though her face was totally flat, "I always manage to just wander right into dangerous situations."

"That you do," agreed Taylor. "Now, we should probably get inside before more troops show up." He radioed some woman and the big doors pulled open. He introduced the group to Dr. Brynn Cole – head honcho on Noveria. Turns out, all those scientists _had_ defected from Cerberus, taking with them pretty much everything they could carry.

Maybe they weren't so bad after all. Maybe.

Of course, they went from potential war criminals to a pain his ass the second he realized they'd all defected with their families. And yeah, he got that they couldn't just leave their families – especially when it became clear that the Reapers really were coming, period – but Jesus Christ, if you're hiding from a huge, sadistic cooperation, it might do to recruit a few more mercenaries. The lone Jacob Taylor didn't seem to be doing so good on his own.

But this being Shepard, they of course were going to save everyone. He could see it in the set of her shoulders. And they did all right, for the most part. Got the AA guns back online. Got most of the shuttles out. In fact, it was all going pretty great until bucket loads of Cerberus troops started jumping from the sky.

"We need to clear this area," yelled Shepard over the gunfire. "Those shuttles don't have the shields to withstand them."

He and Alenko both nodded. The Major overloaded the shield pylons some of those bastards had found time to erect. Shepard was picking them off one by one as they dropped out of their shuttles. The woman was like a fucking killing machine. If she'd hated Cerberus before the coup, he didn't know what to call the cold passion she was showing as she shot them down. The quips were gone, and she was, in James' opinion, at her most beautiful. Sweat dripped down her forehead, and those few lines were camping between her brows.

Mind you, he didn't exactly have time to sit and moon over her. He was too busy shooting. Alenko moved up and to the side at one point, and then gestured for James to follow. And because he was a soldier first and foremost, James followed because just 'cause he didn't like Alenko didn't mean that he was going to disobey a superior order. He crouched behind some crates a few feet up from Shepard who was hanging back.

He lobbed a grenade and that's when he heard it. It was sharp and brief, but he zeroed in on Shepard's cry like it was the only thing on the battlefield. He saw her fall behind her cover, and followed the red glow of a sniping laser to some fucking Cerberus bitch. His hand went to his belt and he pulled a grenade and lobbed it over, hoping that whoever it was didn't die too quickly. He wanted her to feel it.

When there was a break in the fire, he scrambled backwards, over the crates. Alenko was demanding, _Shepard, status_ over the comm unit, but she wasn't answering and James needed to see how bad it was for himself. There was no way she was dead, he told himself, because she's fucking Kayleigh Shepard and she's made of steel and…

She wasn't dead, and that should've been a relief but it wasn't because there was too much blood on the outside – too much of _her_ blood. Those blue eyes rolled upwards to him, and she smiled, her lips stained with red. He'd had fantasies of her with red lips, usually going down on him and – but not like this. Never like this.

"Fucking pathetic," she said, voice thick. With every breath she took, something in her chest rattled. "I moved just in time to avoid a head shot, but not fast enough. I'm losing my edge."

"If this is you without an edge," said James, pulling up his medigel dispenser, "I'd hate to see you when you're sharp."

She coughed, and James was alarmed to see the amount of blood that dribbled down her chin. He removed his gauntlet and wiped it away from her chin with his bare hand. Her blue eyes turned their gaze on him, and he felt as though she could see all the way through him. It was only maybe half a second, but something shifted then. She nodded to herself. "We're getting out of here," she said, and underneath the pain, there was her usual self.

"Damn straight we are," said James, leaning over the crate to fire at a few troopers getting too close for comfort. One was coming up on his left but the guy was suddenly staggered by a shot. There was Shepard, practically draped over the fucking crate, gun in hand, blood all down her front, shooting bad guys like it was no big deal. She met his gaze as if demanding him to make comment, which he did.

"Are you trying to fucking kill yourself?" he snapped.

"We have to get everyone out of here," she said.

"Yeah, and we will, but you making your wound worse isn't going to help!"

"What's going on over there?" demanded Alenko over the comm.

"Shepard's being more batshit crazy than usual," grumped James.

"You're damn right I am," said Shepard fiercely. She shot a few more troops, never managing to get the killing shot, but that was why James fired in spurts after her. "I'm not letting these Cerberus fuckers get anyone else."

Aha. He should've known. He remembered that Akuze was used in training scenarios in C-Sec and Alliance training programs now. While he'd missed that particular lesson by a few years, he'd gone over the details again after Toombs had visited Shepard. It sounded like a fucking horror show.

"Is this about the Cerberus scientists or the 26th?" demanded James. "Because I don't think your old squad would want you to go out in a blaze of glory against Cerberus."

"Fuck off, Lieutenant," snarled Shepard in a way that made him sure he'd hit a nerve.

He was about to bite off some sort of response when an Atlas dropped out of the sky. He hit pavement, pulling Shepard with him whether she wanted to come or not. She didn't. She crawled forward, leaving a trail of red behind her, hitting James' hand with the butt of her pistol when he tried to hold onto her. She twisted and sent a plasma flare at the thing, which did precisely nothing since the damn thing's shields were still up.

"Major, can you do something about those shields before Shepard gets herself killed?"

"Roger that."

The Atlas sparked with electricity. James threw his last grenade at the thing, and Shepard fired off another plasma flare, setting the thing alight. The thing must've had something wrong with it, some sort of fuel leakage from the grenade, because the thing lit up like a cheap Vegas show. James spied a shuttle stop a few meters from where they were, and the door slid open to reveal Taylor and Dr. Cole.

"I'm getting you out of here, Shepard," said James, bending down and picking her up bridal style. She looked like she was about to argue, but her face had gone a nasty grey colour and her head flopped against his shoulder in a way that made his muscles clench. "Not really how I pictured getting you in my arms, Lola."

"Me neither," she whispered, and if they hadn't been on the middle of a battlefield with Cerberus rapidly approaching from behind, he might've done a double take. Had she seriously just said what he thought she said?

Well, it didn't fucking matter right now. That was a thought for another time. Right now, he started to run across the open space between the Cerberus troops and the shuttle, with the doctor waving him in like he was a plane instead of a person. How the hell was that supposed to help? But he made it, with or without the dramatic encouragement. He laid Shepard down on the ground, but her eyes were unfocused. He prepped another medigel, and put it in place, but all that did was allow Shepard to lose consciousness.

"Jesus," said Alenko, dropping down next to Shepard. "I know first aid. We should get her out of her armour so that I can take a look."

Normally, James would be all against Alenko getting Shepard naked, but he was willing to make an exception in this case. They set to taking off the various components to her armour, both of them getting covered in blood – or, more blood, as was the case with James. Thankfully, it seemed to be slowing. Alenko was applying pressure to the wound or something while James sat back like a fool and did nothing, because he was no doctor and the Major probably had more expertise in this particular area than him.

Unless…

He looked to Dr. Cole. "Can't you do something to help? You're a doctor, right?"

She stared back at him with wide eyes, and it took her a few efforts to say, "I studied theoretical physics, not medicine."

Which sounded like a fucking stupid choice to James right about now. He was about to open his mouth to say so when Alenko cut in, his voice soft, "I'm not going to be able to keep pressure on her wound and carry her at the same time."

A look passed between them then, and James knew that the Major was making some sort of play for truce or something. And in any other situation, maybe James might've been a bigger bastard, but this was _Shepard_ and there was so much fucking blood and so he just said, "I got her."

Did he imagine the Major's mouth tightening slightly? James couldn't be sure, but the shuttle pulled into the cargo bay of _Normandy_ just then. He bundled Shepard delicately into his arms, keeping her wound available for the Major's hands. It was like the most gruesome of relay races, with some of the engineers stopping what they were doing to stare at him and the Major as they made their way to the elevator.

Stitches was waiting for them, latex gloves on and her face looking unusually dire. She gestured to one of the beds, and James laid Shepard down as gently as possible before moving back. Stitches filled the space he just vacated, and the Major stood there, rattling off things like life signs and medical jargon that meant absolutely nothing to James except that it wasn't fucking good news.

Stitches glanced up, her eyes skittering over his face, and said, "Thank you, James."

He knew a dismissal when he heard one, but that didn't mean it didn't sting. Shepard's head was drooped to one side, and he couldn't see her chest moving with breaths and there was too much blood and… He turned and walked out of the medbay, because as crazy as he was going to be away from Shepard, he just couldn't see her like this. Even on Earth, there had always been such vitality to her, such life, and now she was…

She was going to be fine, that's what.

He washed his hands in the bathroom sink, and tried not to pay attention to how much red was swirling down the toilet. Then he laid his hands on the counter and took a deep breath. He startled slightly when the door hissed open, and glanced over to see the Major there, looking older than a man his age had any right to look. Alenko threw James a tight look and wandered over to wash his hands too.

"Chawkas thinks she's going to be fine," said Alenko. "She's lost a lot of blood, but nothing vital was hit. Shepard will be out of the game for a few days, but then she'll be back to normal."

James nodded. "Good to hear."

Alenko nodded too, then dried his hands. There was this pause that was full of… something. James wasn't sure what. Then Alenko straightened himself up and said, "Hell of a day. I could use a drink."

Despite himself, James couldn't help the small quirk of his mouth. "Amen to that."

"Want to join me for a few shots in the lounge?" asked Alenko, before looking down at himself. "After we get ourselves out of this armour?"

"Yeah," said James, because he really needed one, no matter who the company happened to be. "Sure."

Which was how he ended up downing shots with Alenko a few hours later, the two of them side by side on the stools like they were old _compadres_ instead of potential rivals. And you know what? It wasn't that bad. Turns out the Major, while not really James' usual sort, was pretty okay. But that didn't mean he liked the guy.

Alenko tipped his shot glass slightly, the smile easing off his face. "You know," he said, "I might only be admitting this because I've had a few, but there was a time when I was absolutely sure I was in love with Shepard."

James' glass paused halfway to his mouth, and he had to make a real effort to say, "That so?" He downed his shot. "What's changed?"

What James was expecting here was some bullshit about Shepard working with Cerberus, or Shepard not being the goody two-shoes hero that Alenko expected. Instead, the guy frowned and reached for the whiskey, pouring himself another drink. "I did, I think. I mean, seeing her alive after the _Normandy_ crashed… Hell, that was both the best and worst day of my life. No, scratch that. The worst day was the coup." He looked to James as if waiting for an answer, but James just raised his eyebrows. "That was the day I realized that Shepard wasn't the woman I thought she was – she was better."

James couldn't help but snort, prompting Alenko's brows to lower over his eyes. "Yeah man, she is," he said, downing his own shot. "Might've figured that out sooner if you'd swung by to see her once or twice."

The other man flinched and stared down at his drink, all lines sinking to the middle of his face. "She was with Cerberus. What was I supposed to think?" The words sounded rehearsed.

"And you didn't think to talk to her?" Now James was getting angry. Here was this asshole, and he was pouring out his guts about loving Shepard or whatever, and he still wasn't admitting that he was wrong. Wasn't admitting – not straight out, at least – that he'd made a mistake. He was just sitting there, spewing out the same goddamned lines he'd been saying since… James didn't even know when. "Not even after she came back from a supposedly suicidal mission? Not after she destroyed the motherfucking Collectors?" He couldn't stop his voice from picking up decibels on its swift jaunt towards indignation.

Alenko's hand gripped his glass. "I thought about it. Every day. But I just… I loved her, and she died, and when she came back, she was working with the people that she hated most. The Shepard I knew wouldn't have even considered it."

"Guess you don't know her as well as you thought," said James, and he couldn't even look the Major in the face.

"Not like you do, you mean," said Alenko, and the whole room stilled.

James tried to break the tension. "I wouldn't say that."

"She comes to you when she needs to be comforted. She's never… That wasn't how it was, with us," said Alenko. He hesitated. "I'm glad she has you, at least." The guy downed his shot, then poured himself another, and downed that too.

"I don't know what you mean," said James, fidgeting on his stool. This was getting way too personal too quickly, and he didn't want any part of it, especially when he had no fucking answers himself.

_Me neither_, she'd said on the battlefield.

James wondered what the fuck that was supposed to mean.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **James has to choose between his loyalty to Shepard and her own well-being when she asks him a dangerous favour.


	12. 10: Shards of Desire, Spikes of Regret

_****This story has been kicking me in the stomach for the last few months. I'm completely stuck in a rut, no lie. I know what I want to happen, it's just that the next few chapters are all jumbled up in my mind (and on the page). The new DLC forced me to rewind and re-evaluate what I wanted where. Even posting this, I looked at the next two chapters (both written) and was still switching them back and forth. Oh well, I hope that you enjoy this chapter! Finally (a little bit of) some action!  
_

* * *

_**Chapter Ten: Shards of Desire, Spikes of Regret**_

_Dahlia,_

_ It seems really strange to think "I knew it" about something like this, but, well, I did. I never passed it on, never mentioned it in my medical reports. I was Shepard's physician for years. After joining Cerberus, she had me do a full physical. The birthing process leaves marks that can't be erased, marks that can't be caused by anything else. I tentatively broached the subject with her. She answered, "That girl who had a baby, she doesn't exist anymore."_

_ I thought it prudent not to pursue the line of questioning._

_ There are many things I could tell you about Shepard. How she had a knack for getting herself in the worst possible positions. How she came into my infirmary more times than I can count with bullet holes, knife wounds, burns. How whenever we drank, she held her booze in a way that would make a krogan jealous. She made the _Normandy_ a home, and we all felt it terribly after she'd gone._

_ I've worked with many soldiers over the years, but there will never be another Commander Shepard. I think that's all I can say._

_ I wish you all the best,_

_ Dr. Karin Chakwas_

**o-o-o**

James and Estaban were sitting near the procurement console when they elevator opened up. He'd been giving Estaban a hard time, since the other guy clearly didn't know how to hold his tequila, and really, what sort of soldier didn't? James knew it wasn't really healthy. He'd been drinking with Alenko – now officially dubbed Whiskey, in James' head if not aloud – a few nights ago, and since then, there'd been a little pick me up every night.

It wasn't that Shepard was hurt – okay, fuck, yeah, it was, happy? But the memory of her blood all over him had combined with the memories of his squad dying, of _their_ blood, in the dreams of that first night and he'd needed something to push thoughts of both away.

So that's why, when he saw Shepard moving gingerly out of the elevator, he stood up and without even thinking said, "What the fuck are you doing, Lola?"

And man, the glare he got in return should've made him want to wrinkle up and die, but he was onto her. She wasn't _really_ mad, she just wanted him to leave her the hell alone so she could continue on with her crazy fucking antics. Well, that sure wasn't going to happen. He could tell from the way she was walking that she was not fine, so he crossed the bay and tried to lace his arm under her pits to hold her up.

She snarled, backing away and nearly falling over in the process. _Now_ she was mad, and as she took a few steps away from him, he found that he was too.

"You should be in bed," he said, "resting like Stitches said."

"Can't," she said with a firm shake of her head. "There's too much work to do."

"Let someone else deal with it for today," said James, his hands coming to rest on his hips.

"There _is_ no one else," snapped Shepard, before rubbing her temples. Even that made her wince. James could see the strain around her eyes, and he knew damn well that if it were anyone but her that was injured, she'd be making them rest instead of making it ten times worse. Hell, when Whiskey got that scratch on his side – no, not even a scratch, a nick – she pretty much handcuffed him to the medbay despite the fact that flimsy metal cuffs were little use against someone who could smash shit with his mind.

He suddenly hated the whole fucking galaxy. It could all burn as far as he was concerned. It was this damn war, and all the bastards in it, who were making Shepard this reckless.

From the reports, she'd always been reckless but she'd never been stupid. This… this was stupid.

He saw blood dotting her Alliance blues and that only confirmed it. "Jesus, Shepard, you're bleeding," he said, with a gesture. "If we don't bring you back up, Stitches is going to go berserk."

But still she shook her head, even as she looked down at the blood seeping through her fatigues. When her fingers came away red from that spot, her hand shook slightly. She gripped at James' forearm, even though her hands were tinier than you'd expect and didn't even come close to circling. "You need to patch me up and then you need to get prepped for a mission."

James was torn between picking her up and shaking her, or ripping the console from its position and hurling it at something. It was one thing to continue shooting in a warzone when it was all about survival. It was quite another to go out injured, looking for a fight. He should know. He'd done both, and from personal experience, the latter always ended fucking badly.

"Shepard," he said, and he had no idea what he was going to say beyond that.

Turned out, he didn't have to say anything, because she held up her hand to cut him off. She was determined, and grim and was that – was that anxiety? She took a deep breath. "It's the Rachni, James. Wrex had reports of them near the Perseus Veil. And you remember what we saw on Tuchanka? The bug thing?"

Boy, did he. That thing was disgusting and a half. Not only was it a giant ass bug itself, but then you shot the wrong part and, boom! Fucking Reaper-ized spiders crawling up your leg. Bugs didn't usually bother him – he usually liked playing the part of the big man and squashing those fearsome spiders with the palm of his hand – but man, freaky cyborg bugs were another thing entirely.

So yeah, Rachni wandering around was sort of a big deal – but that didn't mean that Shepard was the one who had to deal with it. She wasn't babysitter to the whole galaxy.

"Reapers," he deadpanned, crossing his arms. "It's like you've got the opposite of a horseshoe up your ass, Lola."

"Trust me, I don't like it either," she muttered. There was this moment where she opened her mouth, but she snapped it shut and he wondered what she'd been about to say. "But they're my responsibility. I have to deal with them."

"Why?"

Oh, there was that frown of hers again. She really didn't like to be questioned did she? Well, too damned bad. James was getting sick of it. She hefted up her hand as though to lecture him but she lilted left instead. He caught her and steadied her, and he didn't have to pretend to be concerned, it was true. He couldn't he lp himself from running the pads of this thumbs over her bare skin.

"Fuck this," he snapped. "Not everything in the galaxy is your concern, Shepard."

Shepard glared up at him. "Are you going to mend me or am I going to drop onto Utukku already bleeding?"

They stared at each other, and James wondered which of the two of them was more stubborn. Usually, it was hands down him. He'd never met anyone as pig headed as himself before, but now there was Shepard, and she was bringing stubborn into the territory of suicidal.

"I don't like this," he said, dropping his voice.

"You don't have to, James," said Shepard, but she flinched first, dropping her gaze. "Just patch me the hell up so I can get out there and do what I do best."

He knew this was a bad idea. Jesus, you'd have to have only one brain cell between your ears to think this was a good idea. But if he didn't do it, he didn't doubt that she'd do exactly as she threatened. After all, who else could she coerce into doing her bidding like this? Not Scars – he'd totally call her on her bullshit and wouldn't budge an inch. Not Doc – she would flat out refuse and still make it seem like it was Shepard's own idea. Definitely not Major Whiskey, who'd probably turn on that concerned expression that probably got a whole slew of women some wet panties. No, he was the only schmuck she'd come to. And if she didn't get help, and she couldn't go to anyone else, he was becoming increasingly aware that she might take on the whole damn mission herself.

Honestly, he didn't know how he felt about that.

"Please," she said, and something in the way she said it, small and quiet like a child afraid of the dark, it broke his resolve.

He tightened his hands on her arms. "On one condition."

"What's that?"

"You gotta live long enough to show me these terrible dance moves of yours."

Her eyes fluttered shut and her lips curved upwards. One of her hands moved to James' arm again, softer this time, holding it to her shoulder. "I promise," she breathed, giving his arm a squeeze.

His heart was beating like a woodpecker in the morning. James cleared his throat, nodding to himself too many times, unable to say anything when she looked at him, his voice clogged. To pretend at casual, he put his hand in the small of her back – like he had the time she wore that dress, and oh god the sight of her bare legs and her tiny waist were enough to – and led her to his work area, peering around suspiciously to see if anyone was paying attention. Most people weren't around, except for Estaban, but he'd carefully extricated himself from the situation.

Shepard pulled her shirt over her head, and pulled a tightly bound bandage and gauze from her pocket. James gave her _a look_, but she just shrugged and held it out to him and shrugged. She tried to pull her shirt off but her whole body contorted with pain. Something stretched long between them as James' hands descended down to the lip of her shirt, pulling it upwards. He would swear to anyone to who asked, then or later, that he really didn't mean for his fingers to skitter across her bare flesh, but once her breath came in a sharp gasp, he wasn't sorry – especially since it wasn't pain he saw on her face then.

Her words from Arrae came back to him, but he shoved that away for now. Shepard lifted her arms up and he pulled her top off so she stood before him in her sports bra. Blood soaked through her bandages, and James used a knife from his workbench to cut them off. She'd torn open her stitches, and while the wound wasn't big, the jagged edges of her flesh hadn't knitted together yet. A hiss escaped him before he could stop it. She quirked her lips at him and moved over to the bench, making as if to hoist herself up.

James beat her to it, picking her up and setting her down as gently as he could. He couldn't meet her gaze as he unrolled the gauze. "Should we stitch it back up?" he asked.

"Nah. Slap on some medigel and a bandage and it should hold."

He could feel her eyes on him, but he kept his eyes on his work. He put a square of the gauze on her wound and began to wind the bandage around her shoulder and around her torso, his fingers large and awkward. It was way more personal than it should've been, and he didn't know why. Something was different, something he couldn't name. Something had shifted, something that couldn't be put back and, if it meant what he thought it meant (what he hoped it meant), he didn't want it to. Still, he felt like he was confronted with his first crush again, all elbows and vowels and awkward feelings.

When he finished, he inspected his handiwork. It wasn't pretty, but it would do. He nodded, once. "You're taking me with you so I can guard your crippled body, right Lola?"

Her expression made her look like she'd been sucking on limes. "You were on the roster to come, but not to get yourself killed protecting me."

James shrugged and scratched at his cheek. "There are worse reasons to die." He swivelled his eyes to look at her again, finally. "This is really fucking stupid, Shepard."

She sighed and leaned back gingerly. "I know."

He placed one hand on either side of her thighs. "Then why are you doing it? You're the best damn soldier I know."

Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth, and she worried at it while her eyes turned upwards. He waited, and still she said nothing. Something fiery hot sparked inside him, pinwheeling through his veins.

"I deserve to know why you're endangering yourself and the mission," he said, pulling the soldier card. She might doubt it, but he still remembered her little bit about backing off their… well, whatever the fuck _this_ was. If she wanted to tango, he had a nice pair of dancing shoes, thanks.

"I let them live," she said finally. At his confused expression she took a deep breath and clarified: "The rachni. We discovered a queen on Noveria years ago, and I let the queen go."

Now, James had seen Shepard be ruthlessly efficient. Udina's headless corpse could attest to that. She tried to find a peaceful solution, sure, but if there wasn't one, if the risks outweighed the benefits, too bad. So to hear that she'd confronted a species that nearly overran the galaxy and then _let the queen go_, that rocked his world a little bit. If it had been him, he'd have riddled that sucker so full of holes, it would look like swiss cheese. Only, you know, not, because swiss cheese doesn't look like insects and…

Whatever. Not the point.

"You encountered the queen of a homicidal race and you.. let her go?" he said, and couldn't help the judgemental way it was said. He couldn't even feel bad about it.

Shepard frowned up at the ceiling. "It was right after I found Toombs. These people, they'd been doing experiments on her – the queen, I mean. They took her children away and made them into monsters. I mean, they were no pin-up models to begin with, but still." She made a helpless gesture. "And who was I to judge her? She hadn't killed anybody. How could I condemn her for that?"

He could see what she was saying, though he was sure she couldn't guess that. This was another of those things where she said one thing and meant another. He was getting to be a real pro at picking them out, even if deciphering them was way ahead of his pay grade. Maybe that was the reason the Reapers always seemed to be a step behind Shepard – she was just too unwieldy, too unpredictable to calculate. Yeah, that must be it.

"Still, Shepard," said James, and because he couldn't find the words he wanted, he just added, "Jesus."

"I know," she said, and he was startled to hear she seemed close to tears. "I fucked up. I let her live, and who knows what damage I may have caused? The Rachni were dangerous _before_ the Reapers got to them, and…"

"Hey, hey," said James, running a hand up her arm and god were her arms soft. Usually, she kept herself together, but something… something was off with her today. "We'll go and deal with it. If it wasn't the rachni, it would be something else, yeah?"

Shepard nodded, and turned her eyes on him, a small smile playing on her lips. "Seems like you can't get rid of me. You're going to be listening to my problems until the day I die at this rate."

"I can think of worse things," he said, the words falling from his lips. He waited for that overwhelming feeling of embarrassment, of anxiety, but it didn't come. Sure, his throat felt like it was lined in sandpaper and his heart was banging against his chest like it was trying to break free, but he couldn't regret what he said.

And the surprise that coloured her face was so real, was so unexpected. He could see the whites of her eyes, and her mouth was drawn into a small O. It only lasted half a second, before she bottled it all up and made herself force a laugh – James could tell because it was way too cheerful.

"You don't mean that," she accused him, putting her hands on his shoulders and shuffling forward on the workbench, her feet twitching to get back on the ground.

That was when James did hands down the bravest thing he'd ever done. He cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking tracing her cheekbones. "What if I do?" he said.

"James," she breathed, putting her hand over his but not moving his away, which was a good thing, right? But she wasn't going to let it lie forever, knowing her, so he did the only thing he could think of to shut her up before she ruined whatever moment they were having.

He kissed her.

It lasted only a second before it was broken. She pulled away, and he'd never seen her eyes so wild. She was like some feral animal that had been cornered. She put both her hands flat on his chest and pushed him away, sliding off the workbench and wrapping her arms around herself, back to him. His stomach sank down to his toes. On a scale of one to ten of fantastic reactions, this was fucking terrible.

"Belay that order about going out into the field," she said, her voice steady. "I'll take Kaidan instead. He was on Noveria the first time. He'll have a better idea of how to deal with rachni."

He decided to be cautious. "Shepard…"

"Make sure my Mantis is prepped, Lieutenant." She picked up her shirt, stained as it was, and put it on, skirting out of his reach when he tried to help her, despite the obvious pain it caused her.

"If you're not taking me, you should at least tell someone you're still badly injured," he said, angry at everything. Angry at himself, angry at her, angry at those Cerberus fuckers who managed to get a shot on her, angry at the rachni who couldn't manage to stay dead. He added one last shot too, because when he got pissed off, that's what he did. "That hole will be a liability in the field."

She clenched up so tight he swore he could hear her shoulder blades clack together. Her hands bunched at her sides, and she said, "I'll take it under advisement."

The second she left the cargo bay, he slammed his fist down on his workbench hard enough to draw blood. Now, now it didn't even fucking matter if he was transferred or court martialed or any fucking thing. What got him the most was that she was pissed, and if those things happened, yeah, it would suck to leave the _Normandy_, but more importantly, it would kill him to leave Shepard, especially since she was veering dangerously close to the edge and nobody seemed to notice but him.

He drummed his fingers along the edge of his workbench and considered. With a frown, he all but sprinted up to the elevator and rode it to the crew deck. Stitches was in her lab, looking at something through her microscope. She smiled at him he entered, but the smile slid slowly from her face when she saw something on his face.

"Shepard's going on a mission injured," he spilled, and he couldn't stop himself from pacing back and forth. "I tried to patch her up as best I could when she wouldn't come to you, but…"

Stitches sighed and stood, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. Her other hand rested on her hip. "I know," she said.

Wait, did he hear that right? James stopped pacing and stood in front of the doctor. "What?"

She raised a weary eyebrow at him. "Do you really think I don't keep tabs on my patients, James? I knew where we were headed and I had EDI monitoring her condition."

"Then why the hell didn't you stop her? Why didn't you demand she come back here and lay her ass down and get better?" James felt like all the blood vessels in his head were about to pop. Surely, if anyone were going to be on his side, it would be the damn doctor.

"Do you honestly think she would've listened to me?" replied Stitches with a snap in her voice. "Don't you remember what I said about her becoming defensive whenever anyone tries to look after her? If I'd brought it up, she would've been more determined than ever to head down. To prove that she can take care of herself. I've been with her a long time, James. I know how she operates." She sat down. "But if I could do things like say, supply everyone's medigel replacements with a more potent batch – the sort that would knit flesh together for a good few hours even under duress – she would get her way and I would get the best alternative to keeping her in my medbay for the foreseeable future."

"You mean…?" James stared down at his omni-tool. Damn, but his estimation of the doctor rose by a kajillion points. She should be with like, the secret service. Hell no, Chakwas the Spectre. Chakwas with STG. Something. Her subterfuge skills were being wasted in the medbay.

He thought of Shepard and her wound, and reconsidered.

Stitches smiled. "If she were going to go to anyone, it would be you. You've become rather close these past few months, haven't you?"

Ha, if only she knew. "Yeah," said James quietly. "Something like that."

* * *

**Next Chapter: **Shepard searches for Leviathan, and James' perspectives are challenged.


	13. 11: Down Into the Belly of the Beast

_This chapter contains spoilers for the Leviathan DLC, in case you haven't played that yet. PS, who else is excited for the Omega DLC?  
_

* * *

_**Chapter Eleven: Down Into the Belly of the Beast  
**_

_Normally, this would be the part where I thought up something really clever to say. People would laugh until they peed. Young kids would look up at me with admiration. A whole harem of women would swoon._

_ Really, I got nothing._

_ Shepard and I were close – not as close as she was with some of the people on board, but close. I stuck by her, first because even though she could be a real hard ass, she didn't care that I was the pilot with the gimpy bones so long as I could do my job (and I could, by the way). Then, because she saved my life at the expense of her own – which is a long story and not one I really want to rehash. Finally, because she was my friend and she was wading into a shitstorm of epic proportions, so why not go in style?_

_ I was angry at her for a long time. She saved us, but not _all_ of us. I get it. She made the tough call that nobody else would – or could – make. I know she did the best she could. She always did – always went just that teeny bit outside her comfort zone to make sure that things turned out as best as possible. She tried to make others do the same. And I think that was part of it – my anger, I mean. She was Commander Fucking Shepard, and if anyone could end the war with everyone intact, hell, it was her._

_ She didn't. There were sacrifices. The galaxy better be grateful they got her instead of me, because I don't know if I could've done what she did. Man, did it hurt. And once I pulled myself out of my own ass, out of my own grief, I remembered that every call she made hurt her just as much as it hurt anyone._

_ God, I wish I could hate her. I wish anyone could hate her – besides, you know, mercs or Cerberus. People whose opinions matter. I wish they could hate her._

_ But she's just too good, y'know?_

_ Go talk to James Vega. There's really nothing for me to say._

**o-o-o**

Life was pretty much hell at this point. James had made a play, and it failed him. But Shepard, she wasn't berating his ass, wasn't court martialing him (if there were still trials going on what with the whole world going to shit), wasn't even yelling at him. In fact, she was doing diddly squat. She was pretending he didn't exist. He didn't get to go along when she made that stupid trip to rendezvous with the krogan, or the one after that aboard the geth dreadnought.

Really, the only shit he'd taken had been from Whiskey, who'd come down a few hours after the mission, his expression livid and his body glowing like a Christmas tree. "What the hell were you thinking, Lieutenant?" he demanded. "How come you didn't let us know that she was injured?"

James had taken a sip of his coffee. "Told Stitches," he said. "After that, it was in her court."

The Major hadn't liked that, not one bit. "What if she'd died down there? Where would we be then?"

"Heartbroken," said James plainly, turning his back on the Major and waiting for some biotic burst to twist him in two. The moments passed by in silence, until he heard the thud of army boots walking away. Good. Let the bastard chew on that. There were more people on board than him who loved Shepard. The guy even admitted that he didn't loved Shepard properly. Jesus.

When the quarians were all regrouping, getting their supplies sorted out for returning to Rannoch, whatever, Shepard decided they were going on an archaeological survey around the galaxy. Apparently, some doctor had evidence that something had killed a Reaper once upon a time, and Shepard, well, she wanted to know what the hell this _something_ was. So did James, for that matter. Anything that could take down one of those fuckers was something he wanted in his corner, thanks.

So that was why he took a shuttle down to the doc's old laboratory without asking for permission. Shepard wouldn't have given it anyways, and he wasn't in the mood to be pretend he was fine with that. And that look on her face when she came through the door and saw him standing next to that creepy husk head? All slack jawed and then buttoned up tight? Yeah, he'd be lying if he said he didn't get a little kick out of that.

"James," she said, her voice too casual. "What are you doing here?"

"Heard you were close to nabbing one of these things," he replied easily, mostly because it was the truth. "I wanted to see what you dug up."

She frowned slightly at that, but in the end, she only shrugged and said, "Fair enough," before wandering over to talk with Ann. Not the best response, but hey, he couldn't really afford to be picky right now, could he?

Ann was hunched over the rail that separated her from the galaxy map. Shepard walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Ann," she said, "I know this is hard, but if there's anything more you can tell us, I need to know." Shepard's hands clung white-fisted to the railing.

"There's nothing more I can tell you," said Ann with a sigh, pushing herself straight and pulling back her shoulders. James recognized that stance. A lifetime of that stance and a stint in the military will get you real acquainted with the body language for someone who's about to do something crazy. Hell, Shepard wore that stance pretty much every fucking day. "But maybe I can show you."

Shepard crossed her arms and skepticism flickered over her face. "What are you saying?"

"The artifact only sends out a signal when Leviathan is controlling someone," said Ann. "So let it control me. We can trace the signal."

Jaw working, Shepard considered the woman in front of her, fingers dancing along her own arms. Finally she said, "I don't like it, but we're out of options."

"You know as well as anyone that we need to find this thing, just like you know how Leviathan will react when threatened," said Ann, wandering over to the creepy orb thing. The woman's hands were bunched next to her sides. "You need to find a way to stop the Reapers, and I need to find the thing that killed my father."

"We still don't know what we're looking for," hedged Shepard.

"Then let's find out," said Ann, and took a seat in front of the orb.

James, he wasn't around for Cerberus resurrections or Prothean mind beacons, but hell, even he could spot the flaw in the plan. And even if she didn't want to hear what he had to say, he was going to say it anyways. "Commander," he said, "this thing we're doing with Ann… It sounds dangerous as hell."

Shepard sighed and dropped her head into her hand for a moment. "Noted," she said, then turned to Ann. "This is pretty gutsy."

"I don't know about guts," replied Ann with a breathy laugh, and James could tell even as he came to stand behind her, that she was scared shitless. "Crazy, maybe."

"Then you're in good company," said Shepard with the ghost of a smile.

"Don't worry," added James, pressing a hand to Ann's shoulder. She was shaking. "I'm going to be right here."

"Okay," she said, "I'm ready."

What happened next, Jesus, he'd have dreams about it for years he was sure. He dropped the shield and it was like something crawled inside Ann's skin to use her as a puppet. She might've been shaking before, but now she was pretty much vibrating with energy, and not in a good way. That booming, deep voice came from Ann's tiny body, even as it bucked against James' strength. Shepard, she seemed unmoved by the entire thing, going toe to toe with the thing inside Ann, with Leviathan, like this was one of her regular showdowns and not some creepy possession.

"EDI, do we have enough?" asked Shepard.

"Partial lock," said EDI.

"You heard her, we've got enough," said James, straining against Ann's flailing body. "I'm hitting the shields."

"Belay that, Lieutenant," snapped Shepard, and he whirled to meet her gaze head on, anger unfurling like some huge beast in his chest. Didn't help that he saw that same anger in Shepard's eyes. She slammed a hand down next to Ann and spoke to the Leviathan, "We can beat them. We can win this."

"The Cycle cannot be broken."

"You're wrong," snarled Shepard. James didn't see her expression, charged as he was with holding down Ann's body, but the only time he'd ever heard Shepard speak like that was with Cerberus. It was rage, pure and simple.

"Maintain connection to narrow the search."

Ann's body was like a ragdoll in his arms. James wove his arms around her chest, sure he was going to have bruises in a few hours from the way her body kept slamming against his own. Something wet trickled onto his arm, and as he glanced down, he noticed it was blood. Now his own anger was mixed with fear.

"I'm stopping this," he said.

"Back off!" shouted Shepard, eyes blazing. Then, to Leviathan: "Where are you?" When she got no response, she pushed her face in close to Ann's and repeated, "_Where are you_?"

"Beyond reach," slurred the Leviathan.

Glass shattered around him as her body jerked forward out of his gasp. He dimly heard Shepard call his name and remembered the switch. He flipped the shields back on then bounded over to Ann who was slumped on the floor. Shepard stood over her, hands open beside her, but she didn't move. Her eyes were fixed to Ann… who wasn't doing so good. She was bleeding and unconscious.

"Shit," said James, squatting beside her and moving some of the hair out of the doctor's face.

Shepard swallowed. "EDI, update."

Who the fuck was this woman? He glared up at Shepard. "You want a sitrep? Are you kidding me? Look at her!"

But Shepard kept her back to him. "I got it Lieutenant," she said. "EDI, we got a location?"

James didn't hear much of what was said, and he didn't care. He lifted Ann into his arms and couldn't help but notice how light she was in comparison to Shepard. The doctor wasn't his type, not by a long shot, but seeing her like that… He couldn't help himself when he said, "I hope it was worth it, Commander."

"It will be," she said, but she still didn't look at him.

"See you back on the Normandy," he muttered, and was gone.

Once he'd made sure that Ann was being seen, he did just that. EDI had input the coordinates so the Normandy was off shortly thereafter. James lay in his bunk, hands behind his head, eyes closed, and still all he could see was Ann's unconscious face. His muscles ached and his head pounded, and God, did he wish this had nothing to do with Shepard because he couldn't think about the whole thing without wanting to throw up or smash something or both simultaneously.

The woman he'd fallen in love with, she was sensitive and kind and badass and tough and all of those things at once. And she hadn't been in that room at all. In James' mind, it wasn't just Ann who'd been possessed, but Shepard too. Something had been wearing her face, making her choices. This couldn't have been the same woman who consoled that kid David, who cured the genophage, who nearly died protecting those scientists and who shaved her head after an old demon admitted he liked it. The woman in that lab, she'd been cold, and while Shepard could put on a stony front at times – hell, most of the time – she was never that.

But Ann's face flashed through his mind. The doctor at the hospital hadn't seemed optimistic that she'd pull through. The words _permanent vegetative state_ had been thrown about, and James didn't have to be a doctor to know that was fucking bad.

The door hissed open, and there she was. Shepard glanced once at him, then wandered to the back of the dormitory. He heard her tell the other few crew member who were working to scram, and watched the confusion and curiosity war on their faces. There was going to be some new fuel for scuttlebutt.

James didn't know what to expect. He didn't move from his bunk, just watched Shepard's legs wander back over to him. She stood there, her face obscured by the bunk above him, but he made no effort to see her face. Truthfully, he wasn't sure he could look at her right now. The lighting was dim, and for a while neither said anything. For his part, he just listened to her breathe and wondered what the hell she was playing at.

In a very small voice, she asked, "Is Ann going to be all right?"

And because that was the stupidest fucking question he'd ever heard, he snapped, "No. Not even close, Shepard."

Her breath inhaled sharply. "James," she began.

"Don't," he said, his voice hard. All that anger he'd felt in the lab, all that anger that had built up and gone nowhere, it all started seeping out his pores. The last time he'd been this angry, he'd killed a few batarians. Now? He didn't know what to do, so he let it come out through his words. "Don't even fucking try. That was bullshit, Shepard, and you know it."

"James," she tried again, but he was suddenly sitting up, pushing out of his bunk, past her and out into the open. He still couldn't look at her, didn't want to see what was on her face or what wasn't, because either it would diffuse his anger – and he really, really wanted to be angry right now – or it would make him angrier, and no matter how lenient Shepard might be, he didn't think she'd excuse a subordinate taking a swipe at her.

"You're supposed to be a fucking hero, Shepard," he said. "What happened down there… You _used_ her. She was a means to an end. A commodity. What you did to her… You were no better than Cerberus."

The statement fell like a cluster bomb between them. James waited for the fallout, for the impossible force that was Shepard to come sweeping in his direction, but it never did. There was a slump, and when he glanced back, she was sitting on the ground, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at a fixed point somewhere in front of her.

"Have you been keeping up with the reports, Lieutenant?"

James frowned harder, taking a step towards her. "I don't understand what the hell this has to do with Ann, Commander."

Shepard continued on as through she hadn't heard him. "The estimated galactic death toll each day has reached approximately ten million people," she said. "How many people is that a second? How many have died since we started this conversation?"

This was getting real morbid, but James could see where she was going so he decided to head her off. "If you're saying that her life meant less in the long run, I'm sorry Shepard, but that's fucking sick."

"I'm saying her life was precious," said Shepard, words fuzzy with anger and something else. "I'm saying, in a perfect world, I would never have had to do that to her. But time is running out, and I don't have weeks to comb every system in that sector for an ancient weapon that doesn't want to be found."

He was fully prepared to keep being angry until she looked at him, and those blue eyes were bright. Her jaw was clamped and one tear stole down her face. That… James didn't know what to do with that. This was Commander Kayleigh Shepard. She hadn't even cried when she'd been near shot to death. Hadn't cried when the whole fucking world had claimed her a traitor. Hadn't cried when she'd left Earth. Hadn't cried when Mordin or Thane had died. In fact, James couldn't ever recall seeing actual tears on her face.

And here she was, crying for a single woman.

She wiped the tear away, eyes downcast like she was ashamed she let it even be seen. "You once said you would do whatever the fuck was necessary to win this war. Did you mean it?"

Well, fuck. Of course she'd throw that back in his face. "Yeah, but… Jesus, Shepard, that was… I don't know if I could've given that order."

Shepard hoisted herself up, giving her cheeks another wipe down just in case. She stared him straight in the face and smiled, but it wasn't even in the same continent as _happy_. "That's why I did it. So nobody else had to." Her gaze shifted inward and she nodded to herself. She took a deep breath. "People are counting on me, James. I'm supposed to be this big hero – the one chance to save us all. It's total bullshit, all of it, but people will believe what they want to." She gave a lopsided shrug. "It means I have to be better. Stronger. Less…" She trailed off, and stared at her hands. "Human." She closed them in front of her.

He tried to hang onto what was left of his anger, but it slipped through his fingers like silk. Instead, there was this deep pit where his insides used to be. What he was feeling, he couldn't categorize. For one moment, he thought it might be what it felt like to look into a black hole – awe and sadness and fear and – only in this case, the black hole was a person, and the person was Shepard.

All this time, and he'd never _really_ considered what it would be like to be Shepard. Sure, he'd consoled her, he'd laughed with her, and talked through things with her, but in all that time he spent imagining what it would be like to be in Shepard's place, he never factored in the crippling responsibility. She'd never said anything about it, not once, and damn, but James couldn't picture anything lonelier than a savior at the end of the world.

He didn't know if he could forget what she'd done to Ann, or if she'd even made the right call, but he couldn't argue that she'd done it with the very best intentions in mind. He'd realized recently that she was skirting dangerously close to the edge, but he hadn't thought that maybe that edge was miles back and she was already in a headfirst free fall.

"I'm going to make her sacrifice worth it," Shepard continued. "I promise." Without another word on the matter, she turned and marched out of the room.

And even though James believed her then, he couldn't help but feel alarmed several hours later when she climbed into that submersible ATLAS thing and jumped into the water. It was a suicide run, and though Shepard had an uncanny knack for coming back alive from those, this was a new brand of crazy even for her. He tried to voice his unease, but she and Estaban talked over him and she climbed inside the thing.

"This is fucking stupid," he shouted at her as she fiddled with the controls. She stared at him a moment with those blue eyes, and he suddenly knew what she was thinking. James came close to her new toy and grabbed onto the edge of the cockpit. "You don't need to prove yourself, Shepard, not like this. You dying won't make it better."

"Better move your hand," she said. "It'll get crushed otherwise, and I'll be damn hard to shoot off the Reapers with an assault rifle and only one good hand." She pushed a button and top started to come down, forcing him to jump back with a swear. She opened her mouth, then shut it, taking a handful of lumbering steps towards the ocean.

And then she went down, down, down and he counted the seconds with this own breaths. The feeling was only intensified when she emerged near an hour later after only static on the comm, falling out of the thing with gasps for air and blood running down her face. He ran through the fucking cannibals to get to her, slinging her unconscious form over his shoulder while EDI provided cover fire until he got to the shuttle.

The world seemed to become a blurring white space as he pounded into her chest, forcing her body to recover from whatever the hell had happened down there. When she gasped back into life, it was like everything came back into colour. He pushed her sodden hair out of her face.

"Don't ever do that again," he warned.

Shepard wasn't listening. She grabbed his hand, gasping for breath around her words. "James," she wheezed, "it was worth it. I made it worth something."

He didn't know if the water on her face was from the ocean or from the rain or from her own eyes, and it didn't matter as he clutched her to his chest.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **Shepard does what Shepard does best on Rannoch, and James forces a discussion.


	14. 12: Dig That Grave a Little Deeper

_Now that the school term is coming to an end, I should be working on finishing these things up. The worst part about this fic, in particular, is that I know exactly what's going to happen in nearly every single chapter, yet I haven't had time to write a word of it. This is officially the last chapter I have written (for now!) but I'm free as of Friday, so expect at least a few updates throughout the holidays. :) _

* * *

_**Chapter Twelve: Dig That Grave a Little Deeper**_

_Hi,_

_ Keelah, this is much harder than I thought it would be. I saw the letter you wrote Garrus, and I knew there would be one for me too. I tried to think of what I was going to say, tried to think of a way to describe Shepard that would do her justice. That's the least I can do, right?_

_ Even now, even writing this, I just think, "What would Shepard say?" She'd probably tell you that she was just another soldier. Yeah, that sounds like her. But she wasn't. She took me in when I was just a kid on my pilgrimage – alone in the galaxy without a friend. She took care of me. I mean, I don't know if this is what she was thinking, but if it would it would make sense if it was– I think she might have been thinking of you when we met._

_ Don't tell anyone I said this, but I always thought she might be a little lonely on the first Normandy._

_ I know she didn't have an easy time on Earth – no family, no friends that she ever mentioned. Maybe she was trying to make my life better than hers had been. If that was her intention, she succeeded, and not just for me. Quarians will remember her name for ages. She brought us peace. She gave us back our planet. She did it even though we did our best to sabotage her efforts._

_ I know you don't really know her, and that makes me sad. Some people... Some people aren't meant to be parents. I don't know if Shepard's one of them, but I do know that I've never had anyone look out for me the way she did._

_ Garrus recommended you talk to James (I peeked over his shoulder while he was writing his letter). I think that's a good idea. You should go see him in person if you can. I think Shepard probably told him things she couldn't even tell us._

_ Keelah selai._

_ Tali'Zorah vas Normandy_

**o-o-o**

Okay, so, James had always figured that quarians got a bad rap for no good reason. Yeah, they might've created AI that then drove them off Rannoch and set about killing organics for shits and giggles, but so what? This one time, James let nearly an entire colony get taken by the Collectors. What he meant was, people – collectively or individually – they made stupid mistakes. Hell, look at any damn country on Earth, and there'd be a history of blood there.

And really, after meeting Sparks, James just couldn't figure how anyone could hate her. Even putting aside her admittedly amazing hips, not only was she the sweetest shotgun-wielding quarian James had ever met, but she and Shepard together were just too hilarious. Her first night on board, James wandered up to the mess hall to hear her and Shepard discussing the relative properties of some thingamajig that connected to the power converter on the matrix of the… Well, okay, James had no fucking clue what they were talking about, but Shepard was happier than he'd seen her in a while.

Even if she spared him only a nod before dismissing him completely.

But, well, what did he expect? That was Shepard's MO. Whenever he thought that he was getting closer, she would back the hell off. He'd almost seen her die on her insane quest for Leviathan – he was still dreaming about her TITAN coming back up, filled with water, and her skin clammy and cold – and he'd seen exactly how far she was willing to go. He'd thought… Well, he didn't know what he'd thought. That after their heart to heart, they'd go back to growing closer? Unfortunately, despite the fact that she'd spent the whole ride back to the _Normandy_ in the cocoon of his arms as she remembered how to breathe, she'd decided to hit the breaks and act like they were just acquaintances.

Which meant that despite her little break down, she was probably still immensely pissed about that kiss of his…

It was terrible. Now, he wouldn't go so far as to say it was a worse hell than seeing Earth raped by the Reapers, but Jesus, it was its own special brand of torture. Worse yet, everyone noticed even if nobody said anything. Nobody asked either, though he'd gotten a few sympathetic looks from Doc and a few considering glances from both Scars and Whiskey. Estaban had procured some tequila a few nights back, but James had no desire to drink it – something that only served to make his pilot friend more concerned.

Sparks, though, she came down right before the mission on Rannoch. Shepard had sent him a note earlier letting him know that he was coming to Rannoch to, quote unquote, _give the geth something to shoot at while Tali and I work tech_. The unsaid message being, _because I hate your fucking guts and I hope you get shot._

He was working on something, or pretending to work on something, when Sparks cleared her voice behind him. She came up and crossed her arms, looking him up and down – or, at least, he thought she did. He couldn't be sure under that mask of hers. She held out one hand and James took it, giving it a shake.

"James, right?" she said.

"Yeah," he said.

Sparks made this _hmm_ sound and recrossed her arms again. "You going to be all right for Rannoch? Working with Shepard?"

James had to bite back his irritated response, to stop himself from telling her that he could handle missions just fine, thanks, because he understood exactly what this meant for her. This was her chance to reclaim her planet – a planet none of her people had seen in a few hundred years. And yeah, if it were Earth, he wouldn't want some screwup dipshit to fuck it all up either. But it rankled, because even though it was totally his fault, it wasn't like he'd grabbed Shepard's tits or asked to fuck her up the ass or anything. He pretty much told her he loved her, and then he'd yelled at her for her choices, and, well…

"I'm fine," he said shortly. "Though I'd ask you to mention it to somebody if Shepard pushes me into a pit and leaves me there."

"She wouldn't do that," said Sparks with a headshake.

"Yeah, yeah," said James, and ducked under the table to pick up his assault rifle. He'd bought this fancy new omni-blade that could attach to the end like a bayonette, and he wanted to see how the beauty worked.

"She likes you too much for that," confided the quarian.

James paused, raising an eyebrow at the woman next to him. "Quarians must have some messed up friendships. How do you figure that? She hasn't said two words to me in over a week."

Sparks made this noise that sounded suspiciously like _aha_. "Exactly," she said, and then waited for… something. Clearly, James didn't deliver because she huffed slightly and dropped her arms. "All right, let me lay it out for you. When we were after the Collectors, there was this Cerberus _boshtet_ who kept trying to push her agenda on Shepard. Shepard hated her, and made a point of showing it. Often. _Vocally_."

God, he could feel a headache coming on. "So you're saying that she can't hate me because she talks to people she hates?"

"Actually, she usually yells at them or threatens them with guns," said Sparks, "but she hasn't done either to you, right?" James shook his head, even while thinking of the message he'd received, which he supposed didn't _really_ count as threat. "There you go."

"If she likes me so damn much, she sure has a funny way of showing it," muttered James, screwing the attachment into place. He knew that wasn't exactly a fair statement, but hell, he was the lover (or whatever) scorned here, right? Isn't that what they called guys who got their asses handed to them while making a move?

James was pretty sure Sparks was looking thoughtfully at the ceiling, but he couldn't be sure what with her helmet and all. "When I joined Shepard the first time, I was just some kid on her pilgrimage," she said, her voice distant. "By the time we stopped the attack on the Citadel, I remember thinking that I'd never had anyone look out for me like her. That I'd never had a better friend." Something clenches in the quarian's whole posture. "It was only when I joined up with her the second time that I learned really important details – like the fact that she didn't have any family whatsoever. That whole time, I'd been thinking of her as one of my closest friends, and I didn't know a single thing about her." Sparks started wringing her hands together. "And then, being me, I worried. I worried and felt guilty because how come I'd never asked? This major figure in my life, and I never asked her about her childhood, about Earth, about _anything._" Now he could tell she was smiling, even with the mask, though not if it was a happy one. "And you know what Shepard said?"

Since James pretty much knew diddly squat about what Shepard would or would not do at this point, he shook his head.

"She told me that it was on purpose that I didn't know anything about her. That she steered every conversation away from herself and towards everybody else's problems so she didn't have to share." Sparks took a deep breath. "I don't think I've ever seen her so sad. I mean, she was sad when Ash – Gunnery Chief Williams, I mean – died, really sad. We all were. But this… It was like she wasn't the Commander anymore. She was some person I'd never met. So then I asked her about herself, and she said, _Tali it's not that I don't trust you but there are things I'm never going to tell anybody._"

James' hands stilled on his work. He already knew all this, give or take. Hell, she was remarkably closed lipped even when she was opening up. When she'd first broached the subject of Dahlia, James had been completely convinced that Shepard's mom had shown up out of the blue and that Shepard was having reservations. And Shepard just sat there and let him go along with it! He can still remember how it felt, like the floor had fallen out of his stomach, when she mentioned she had this daughter that nobody had ever heard of.

Then there was the scene in the crew quarters. What did that mean, in light of Sparks' revelation? Was that something she'd never told anyone? It sure felt like it at the time, but now he wasn't sure. Maybe she and Scars talked about that sort of shit all the time. How was he to know?

And anyways, there was a big difference between holding back and going fucking mental. And you know what? It wasn't even that his manly pride was injured (though it was). It was more that she didn't have the stones to tell him in person that, hey, she wasn't interested. Yeah, it would've sucked, especially since James was pretty sure that he was actually, legitimately in love with her, but hey, he was a marine and a damn fine one and he would've taken whatever she said graciously. She had a lot on her plate, and he got that, really, but it would only have taken three words: _I'm not interested._

He leaned all his weight on his workbench. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he asked at last.

Sparks started wringing her hands again. "I don't know. I don't even know why I told you that. Garrus told me that you and she seemed pretty close these past few months, so I just thought…" She ran a finger around the seal of her helmet.

"Nah, don't worry about it," said James. He paused, throwing her a cheeky grin. "So you and Scars, huh?"

"Who?" asked Sparks, tilting her head to the side, and God, James could see the appeal. This girl was adorable. At James' mime of Scars', well, scars, her hands flew to her helmet and then out in front of her. "I – no – that's not, I didn't mean…"

"Uh huh," said James.

"We were talking about you and Shepard, remember?" she deflected. Sparks took a deep breath. "What I mean to say is, if she's pushing you away, it might be because you got too close, you know?"

Did everyone think he was emotionally handicapped or something? He had worked that out for himself, thanks. Hard not to when you're shut down at every opportunity. For what must've been the millionth time, he couldn't help but wonder what she'd endured that made it so impossible for her to open up. A shitty childhood, yeah, but from the scuttlebutt that was travelling around the ship with regards to Whiskey and Brain Camp, well, clearly it had to be worse than _taken from home and forced to move shit with your mind_. What that meant, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Any tips?" he asked.

Sparks shrugged. "Sorry, I've got nothing. I think we've all gotten as close as she'll let us. She'd die for us before telling us her earliest memory." She laid a hand on his shoulder. "I guess… keep trying?"

"Hard to do when she won't talk to me."

Sparks opened her mouth – or at least her little light went on – when Shepard rounded the corner, hands on her hips. She glanced between the two of them. "What's going on here?"

James crossed his arms and stared back at her from under his frown, which did jack all because she was looking exclusively at Sparks who was dancing around like she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"I was just telling James about the modulator on the FTL drive that allowed the mass effect fields to fluctuate the speed of the vessel," said Sparks.

Now Shepard did look at him, one eyebrow raised like she clearly didn't believe a word of it. And really? James didn't give a flying fuck. If she was going to be all kindergarten, well, he'd had plenty of people tell him he needed to grow up over the years and he was prepared to give her a run for her money. "Yeah," he said, with zero enthusiasm. "Modulations and shit." Beside him, Sparks dropped her forehead into her palm.

"Right," Shepard said, mimicking his tone. Then, as though she just erased him out of the picture, she turned her whole body towards Sparks. "Tali, Legion and the admirals are up in the war room. We need you there to discuss our plan for Rannoch. Could you head up there?"

"Of course," said Sparks, glancing back at James as she moved towards the elevator. Even though he couldn't see her face, he knew that she was probably mouthing some sort of apology to him, which was totally unnecessary since she wasn't the one being crazy about this whole thing.

"James," said Shepard, "I've decided to take Liara with us instead. Her biotics will come in handy and she can lend a hand with tech if need be."

Nobody ever said he was smart, and that was probably why he grabbed Shepard's arm as she tried to leave. She glanced down at his hand like she couldn't understand why it was there or where it had come from. Slowly, so slowly, that gaze moved up to his face.

"Shepard," he said, quite aware he was leaving himself open for a full frontal attack, "c'mon. Talk to me. Please. Even if it's just to call me out on it. Yell at me. Something. Do _something_."

"I have a briefing to get to," she said.

Well, if she was going to talk like she hadn't heard a word he'd said, he was going to do the same damn thing. "Listen, you come to me for months and tell me things nobody else knows and then I make a few admittedly shitty decisions and you spill your guts but then suddenly I don't even exist? For fuck's sake, Shepard, just give me some clue about what's going on, because I'm frying my brain over here trying to figure it out."

Shepard covered his hand with hers and pried off his fingers. She took a deep breath. "I have a briefing to get to," she said, and he was about to retort angrily, so she blundered on, "so after. After I get back from Rannoch, we'll have this little heart to heart or whatever the hell this is."

"Good," he said, dropping his arms.

"Good," she said. And then she was gone.

Rannoch wasn't supposed to be a big deal, relatively speaking. Sure, there were geth up the wazoo down there, but that wasn't anything new for Shepard. If there were a resident geth-killing expert, James figured it'd be her. He felt better knowing that Doc and Sparks were with her. He couldn't think of a better trio to deal with hordes of sentient toasters armed with rifles. Of course, that was until the Normandy started swaying around him and his coffee cup was sent spinning to the ground.

"Reaper thinks we'd make a fun target, people," said Joker over the comm. "If you value your bits, I'd strap myself down."

Wait, _Reaper?_ Nobody had said a fucking word about a goddamned Reaper down on Rannoch. James careened his way to the wall and pulled out his emergency seat, buckling himself into it. God, did he want to be down on that surface with her. Didn't matter that he'd felt like wringing her neck for the past little while in a mixture of childish petulance and downright irritation, that was Shepard down there, facing a Reaper without proper intel. And knowing her, she got herself right smack dab in the middle of the action, right where it was most dangerous. Of course she did.

No, he told himself, it'll be okay. She wouldn't die before they sorted out whatever had happened. This is Commander Fucking Shepard. She's taken on Reapers before, and they've all died. She can do this.

That was the thought he clung to while the _Normandy_ wove around what he could only assume were Reaper lasers. Then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped. James unbuckled his belt and bolted towards the elevator, wishing not for the first time that there were fucking stairs on the ship. He tapped his boot the whole way up to the CIC, and chatter instantly filled his ears as the crew scuttled back to their positions, intent and stressed looks upon their faces. James pushed past them and came up behind Joker.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Joker glanced over his shoulder, forehead gleaming with sweat and pressed his mouth tight. He said nothing as he turned back to his controls, fingers flying over the console.

"Shepard has synced up her weapon to the firepower of the _Normandy _and the entire quarian fleet," supplied EDI, who seemed to have mastered the art of talking and working at the same time, unlike a certain pilot. "She's now using it take down the Reaper."

Well, that didn't sound too bad. Actually, it sounded like the sort of badass answer Shepard would come up with.

"What EDI has failed to mention is that our beloved leader is doing this all on foot," said Joker, strain lacing his words, "with the Reaper bearing down on her position."

It took James only a few seconds to visualize the scene, and he did not like what he saw. He gripped the back of Joker's chair. "Then fly down there and get her!"

"Negative," chimed in EDI. "The targeting system has been looped through the _Normandy_. Moving the ship into the atmosphere will create interference and could wind up hindering the guidance system's capabilities."

"Does it look like I give a flying fuck about the guidance system?" demanded James.

"No," said EDI, "but Shepard does." There was something firm in her voice as her fingers flew over the holographic interface in front of her. "I doubt she would care for the intrusion."

Swiping down with the _Normandy _to save her ass from being burnt to a crisp by a Reaper was an _intrusion_? Fuck, only with Shepard would that be the case. He tried to stamp down the growing knot of worry that sludged through his body. She'd said they were going to have a talk after she got back from Rannoch, and he couldn't help but wonder if her going head to head with a Reaper was her way of getting out of it. For anyone else, it would've seemed like overkill, but for Shepard, well, that was exactly the sort of crazy ass stunt she was liable to pull.

"The Reaper is down," announced EDI.

"Down? What do you mean down?" asked James.

"I mean dead, Lieutenant," said EDI, and her android voice sounded pleased. "Shepard killed it."

That took a moment to swallow properly. James fisted his hands and pressed them into his eyes, wondering not for the first time what the fuck he'd gotten himself into. Not only was Shepard redefining the term _badass_, but she was also diving deep into the territory of _pathologically insane_. The worst part was that he couldn't figure out if it made him like her more or not. That said something about his own mental state, probably, but he wasn't going to think on it.

No, instead he breathed a sigh of relief, clapped Joker – _softly_ – on the shoulder and moseyed backed down to the shuttle bay to pretend to be busy. He had to physically brace himself from rushing towards the shuttle when he heard it land, instead looking casually over his shoulder. Shepard hopped off the Kodiak and removed her helmet, her hair standing in almost a Mohawk with sweat. She caught his eye, and he turned around, but she waved him down.

"I need a shower," she announced. "After."

"Is that a promise, Lola?" he asked.

Shepard rolled her eyes and huffed. "Yeah, yeah, it's a promise, okay?" She chucked her mantis over at him one-handed, and he caught it, dismantling parts of it even as her mouth quirked up in, what was that? Affection? Whatever it was, it didn't last long before she was gone.

Someone cleared their throat. It was Sparks, and she was giving James what the marine assumed was supposed to be a raised eyebrow.

"What?" asked James.

"Oh, nothing," the quarian all but singsonged.

"I'm going to let that slide because you're cute," said James, pointing a finger menacingly in her direction.

"Careful, Lieutenant," said Doc, disembarking from the kodiak. "Or someone might get jealous."

He threw her a flirtatious smile. "C'mon Doc, you know I think you're pretty cute too."

Doc smiled too, but it was quiet and secretive. "Who said I was talking about me?"

And it was like they were all thirteen as the girls skittered off together, leaving James with an underpinning of annoyance. Surely they weren't talking about Shepard? Did that woman even get jealous? And why the hell would she? It should be totally obvious exactly where his intentions were pointed… Not that Sparks or Doc would know about that, would they?

Shepard didn't strike him as the sort of woman that divulged all those details to her girlfriends, but hell, if the last few weeks – or their whole relationship, really – had taught James anything, it was that he really had no fucking clue when it came to Shepard.

Twenty minutes later, she came over his omni-tool. "James, I'm free for that talk now."

"Right up," he said, and tried to ignore the encouraging smile from Estaban's corner.

She was pacing when he came in, her hair still wet from her shower. She spared him a brief look, but continued moving, her hands clasped behind her back. "It's probably obvious that we haven't been quite the same since… well." Her frown deepened.

Throat dry, James decided to speak up. "Look, Shepard, I was totally out of line on both accounts. With Ann, I just…"

"I get it," she said, and stopped, finally. She sighed. "And I'm not angry. I'm just… Confused, I guess." She stood there biting her lip, and it was like she'd dangled this carrot in front of him that he could almost, but not quite, reach. What did that mean, she was confused? "I guess I've gotten used to you putting up with my shit. Listening and, well, _mostly_ not judging." She very nearly smiled at him before it fell away. "But things are starting to get blurred right now, and our mission is too important for that."

James was nodding like an idiot, like he totally got it, only his mind was wrapped around the realization that she never once said that she wasn't interested or that she hadn't liked the kiss or that she didn't feel the same. He couldn't help but remember how small she'd looked in the crew quarters, and how vulnerable when she cried, and how she'd chosen to go ass first into an ocean filled with crazy, psychic aliens to prove her point.

He stopped nodding. "You know, Shepard, you're human too. Sometimes you gotta just stop and take a breath, you know?" She raised an eyebrow at him, and he held up his hands in surrender. "I'm not saying you need to do it with me or anything, though…" Somehow, the flirtatious line he reached for was nowhere to be found, so he shrugged and let that speak for itself, before shoving his hands into his pockets.

She shook her head. "I have to be what everyone needs," she said.

"You've said that already," he said, and he couldn't quite keep the snap from his voice. "But you're running yourself into the ground here, Shepard. Listen, I'm right at the front of the line for the Commander Shepard fan club – and that's even knowing your weird food preferences – but nobody's going to point you out and say, _hey she's not pulling her weight_ if you let be less than an automaton sometimes. We're fighting the unfeeling machines so we don't become them, _recuerdas_?"

Her hands came to rub the tops of her arms like she was cold. James took a step towards her and she took a step backwards, her hand up. "I have to be what they need," she repeated, eyes downcast, "even if… even if it means I can't have what I want."

Wait, what? It felt like every organ in James' body travelled up to his throat. Was she talking about him? Was she…? A million and five thoughts whizzed around his head – a record, he was sure – and finally he just settled on one: _fuck that._

He closed the distance between them faster than she anticipated and pulled her to his chest, kissing the top of her head, her forehead, her cheeks. He got to her lips and there was this glorious moment when she kissed him back, when she wound her arms around his neck and let him push her up against the walls, their bodies pressed tight. He licked her bottom lip and she opened her mouth to him, and Jesus, he'd never tasted anything he wanted more. If he could die with that taste on his lips, that would be fucking okay with him.

She broke the kiss, turning her head to the side and he kissed down her jaw and to her neck. Her hands gripped at his shoulders. "James," she said, her voice breathy, "James, we have to stop."

He pressed kisses into the crook where her neck met her shoulder. "No," he said, "we don't."

Her hands moved to his cheeks and he was startled to see she was crying again. Nothing dramatic, no sobbing or soaked cheeks, but a tear or two definitely. "Yes," she said, her hands stroking his face. "We do." She extricated herself from him and pulled away, straightening her fatigues. Her cheeks were flushed, lips bruised, and Jesus, she'd never looked sexier. James was going to be walking funny for the next while.

"You're making yourself a martyr," he said, breathing hard. "Nobody's forcing you to do this, you know."

Shepard ran her hands through her hair and glanced at him. The moment their gazes touched, she looked down. "I know," she said. She licked her lips and stared at the empty fish tank instead. "But not only am I your CO in wartime, when I… When I let my emotions get the better of me, bad things tend to happen. Put that on the battlefield and one of us is likely going to die."

He stepped towards her, and though she tensed just the tinniest bit when he put his hand on her shoulder, he wasn't about to move it. Humour worked in these situations, right? "Well, look at it this way. If it's terrible, you might not have to put up with me for that much longer. Push me in front of a Reaper, say it was an accident, and nobody will know the difference."

Now she tensed completely and pulled away. Way to go, Vega. "That's not even remotely funny," she said. She sighed. "I think you should go."

"Shepard…"

"Go," she said, and it was an order, even with the note of apology floating underneath it.

He wanted to stamp his feet like a two year old. He wanted to push her back up against the wall and kiss her until she stopped bullshitting herself. He wanted to yell, and hurl things, and beat something bloody. But for once in his life, he didn't. He sighed. "Are we okay, Shepard?"

She nodded. "We're fine."

"Good," he said, "'cause I still need to see your dance moves."

Her laugh was curt and didn't make it to her eyes. "Don't push it."

He did the only thing he could do and saluted her. She returned the gesture, but it lacked the usual gusto. As he rode down the elevator, he couldn't help but feel that even though she'd gotten exactly what she wanted, Shepard was as unhappy about it as he was. In any other circumstance, this might have offered him some sense of consolation, but now? Now he felt like he'd been run over by a semi, his ribcage crushed, and his breathing was becoming harder and harder every second.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **Vega gets a tattoo and Shepard sees a side of him she hasn't before.


	15. Interlude Two: Perspectives

_After a ridiculously long hiatus, I'm back! Of all my stories, this one is (somehow) the most difficult to write, hence the long delay.  
_

* * *

_**Interlude Two:**_

On his list of things he meant to tell Dahlia, that wasn't quite at the bottom, but it was damned close. James shuffles under her gaze before she pulls it away to study a spot on the ground and thank God for that, because he does _not_ want to talk about making out with Shepard. Her hands are white-knuckled together, and he wishes he knew what she was thinking, but of course, of _course_ what she inherited from Shepard was a mean poker face.

Dahlia stands up, her hands going to her hips. She takes a few steps in one direction and then stops, turning thoughtfully. It's like she can't quite figure out what to do with herself, and James can't really blame her. This is some heavy shit he's laying down.

He sighs, and he stands too, tipping his beer bottle to get the last few drops. Dahlia is so small in the space of the living room, and her lost expression is so similar to Shepard's that it's like he's right back in the middle of the fucking war and he still has no idea what to do. He clears his throat, startling her and manages to shrug an apology.

"You hungry?" he says.

She blinks those blue eyes at him. "Pardon?"

Right there, that's a huge difference between Shepard and her daughter. Shepard hardly ever used manners, especially not with him. More than likely, her reply would be a raised eyebrow.

James clears his throat. "I'm starved," he says, a little too loudly, "and, well, I don't know how much you want to hear, but if you want me to keep going, I'm not going to be able to sit here all casual-like and tell you. Either I cook, or we go for a run. Your choice."

She stares at him like he's grown an extra head, and he reminds himself that she's not military, that she's never been military, and so she may not understand what he's thinking. Still, it takes her only a few seconds of deliberation before she says, "I could eat."

"Fantastic," he says without any real gusto, and jerks his head in the direction of the kitchen before wandering off. He doesn't wait for her to follow.

He'd planned on spaghetti for dinner, and it seems like a tacky choice with the bloody direction of his memoir, but whatever. He pulls out the ingredients for his sauce and sets up his chopping station, only dimly aware of Dahlia's footsteps into the room behind him. He hears her hesitate.

"You need any help?"

"Nah, I got it," he says. "Pull up a chair."

The chair scrapes against the tile floor as he begins to dice the onion. He tries to think of where to go from there, but he's stuck remembering how it felt to be so close to Shepard, and so far away. In some ways, it's exactly like this moment. Dahlia, well, she could be Shepard from a distance, but up close? No way in hell. Too lithe, too timid. There's a spark of something in her, but damnit, Shepard was born a wildfire.

"I wondered," she says, quietly, like she's afraid to bring it up, "why everybody said I should talk to you. I thought that, maybe, the Alliance had tasked you with keeping an eye on her because you'd been her jailer, but then I came and you said that you loved her."

"Actually," replies James, "I think I remember saying that I _love_ her. As in, continuously. Haven't stopped."

"Right," agrees Dahlia, who sounds even more miniscule now, and he's not sure how that's possible. "You did say that but… I guess I never figured…"

Despite himself, James sets down his knife and chuckles, turning to her with a raised eyebrow. "Go on, you can say it." Her face turns the colour of his tomatoes, and she stares hard at her knees. "You didn't think the legendary Commander Shepard would fall for an average grunt like me, right?"

"That's not… I didn't," protests Dahlia, but she's far from convincing.

"Hey, I'm not offended," says James with a smile, and the only word he can slap on Dahlia right now is _adorable_, like a kitten or something. "Haven't you been listening? I was pretty surprised myself." He turns his back on her so she can't see the smile slide off his face as he remembers how torturous it was to know how she felt and to be so unable to do anything, especially when the world was going to hell.

"It's not that," she assures him, "or not _only_ that. It's just… All those letters I got from people, they almost all told me not to think of Commander Shepard as a legend, and I thought… I thought I could do that, because I saw her that once and because, until the end, she seemed so… _normal._"

James barks out a laugh before he can help himself. "Normal? Hell no, she wasn't normal. She was…" A thousand words filter through his mind: amazing, wonderful, beautiful, complex… It goes on and on, so he finishes lamely, "Not normal. But she _was_ human, and that's the part people usually forget."

"Right," says Dahlia, like she's trying to use the word to convince herself of this fact. For a while, there's nothing between them but the sound of chopping, but James feels her presence behind him like a spider down his back. It's unnerving, but damn if he's going to let it show. "Do you ever find it hard? To separate the woman from the legend?"

That makes him pause again. He licks his lips and considers his answer. "I used to. Back on the _Normandy_." He shrugs. "Now? Not so much."

"How did that change?"

That question, it's loaded. One wrong word, and it'll be his heart splattering all over this kitchen. He takes a deep breath, willing himself to remain nonchalant even though his muscles are tensing like he's back there, back in the thick of things, back with Commander Shepard, back with Kayleigh.

"The thing about legends," he says, "is that their life before the story starts is always kinda glossed over, you know? But when you start finding out the deep dark details of that, that's when you realize that those people who do amazing things, those people always have something pushing them forward, and it's not always pretty."

He doesn't want to keep going, but in for a credit, in for a chit.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** While on shore leave, Vega gets a tattoo and realizes just who he's fallen for.


	16. 13: A Mirror With Too Many Faces

_Two chapters for the price of one! I couldn't leave you with just the Interlude, so I'm including this as well. This chapter contains SPOILERS for the Citadel DLC. It was originally going to take place on random shore leave but then, well, I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone. On the other hand, I'm not sure I like how this chapter turned out since I tried to fit in all the things (!) and don't think it's as seamless as it could be. Considering I have tons of other writing to do, however, I'm posting it in the interest of progressing the story. Enjoy! :) _

* * *

_**Chapter Thirteen: A Mirror With Too Many Faces**_

_ Dear Ms. Misra, _

_ I'm not sure what I can tell you that I haven't already heard. Shepard was a hell of a Commander, a hell of a woman, and, even though I didn't know her as long as some, I still count her among some of my closest friends, even after… Well, after. _

_ She liked to help people with their problems. She could be pushy as hell, to the point where some people might think she was insensitive, but that wasn't it. It didn't occur to me at the time, but now I think she might've been trying so hard to fix all our problems because she had no idea how to deal with her own, and who could blame her? If you knew half the things that happened to her, you'd swear I was pitching you the plot of the twenty-first Blasto movie. _

_ But Shepard herself, I think she was the most real person I ever met. She deserved better than what she got. As the war went on, there were times when we'd return from a mission and she'd just look so lost. If I could go back, if I could help her like she helped me, I would. _

_ I was on Earth, grounded, when it all went down. It was the second worst day of my life._

_ But you don't want to hear about this. I've got some stories I can send you if you want them, but if you don't mind some friendly advice, I'd tell you to look for Commander James Vega. He and Shepard… I think he was the closest to understanding her of all of us. _

_ Keep in touch. If you want, I mean. _

_ Steve Cortez _

**o-o-o**

James couldn't tell you exactly why he'd decided to get a tattoo. Okay, well, he _could_ but he had the sneaking suspicion that it wasn't as simple as he was trying to pretend. Yeah, he did want to make his commitment to the N7 program official, but if he were being really honest, that was almost a secondary objective at this point. The primary objective was just to commit to _something_ and since he wasn't able to do be with Shepard, well…

The fact that she was his favourite N7 – sorry Anderson – didn't hurt either.

The needle was cathartic against his skin, and he clenched his hands at his sides, closing his eyes and replaying that scene in Shepard's quarters. He'd been an idiot, even if she'd responded, even if she'd told him that she pretty much lov – liked him. She was his fucking CO, and he'd behaved like a horny teenager on prom night.

To her credit, Shepard had kept things totally cool since then. She hadn't blocked him out like she had after he'd kissed her the first time, but she'd been giving him a wide berth too. He was conflicted about the whole thing. On one hand, did he want Shepard anywhere but fifteen feet from him? Hell no, especially when that meant that he'd been left on the _Normandy_ for the last little while, presumably to avoid any uncomfortable silences in the shuttle. But on the other hand, well, he didn't fancy staring at his belly button and trying to pretend nothing had changed either.

So far, nobody had said anything.

Okay, scratch that. Nobody but Estaban.

Few days ago, the guy came up behind James after an awkward one-two shuffle with Shepard up in the mess. James had beat it back down to the shuttle bay and nearly clocked Estaban when he'd snuck up behind.

"What was that all about?" asked Estaban, crossing his arms and taking a seat on a crate like he wasn't going to leave until he had an answer. Which he probably wasn't.

"What was what?" asked James, doing his best to look totally innocent.

Estaban didn't buy it. How come nobody ever bought it? "That, upstairs, with Shepard."

James wasn't ready to be on the level yet. "What are you talking about?"

The look he got from Estaban could've fried an egg. "Listen, I'm going to pretend you haven't been giving me the runaround because you're cute and because you're my friend, but talk to me James."

"You think I'm cute, Estaban?" asked James, wiggling his eyebrows.

"_James_," said Estaban, and it was such a perfect _dad_ voice that James couldn't help but hope that they won this war so Estaban would have an actual kid of his own to use it on. His friend sighed and held up his hands, signally defeat. "If you want me to mind my own business, just tell me."

It had been tempting to do that, but Jesus, the last thing that he needed was to alienate another person on the ship, especially the only person who was sympathetic to his plight. James did not feel any desire to talk about this to any of the women – what with their sly smiles and condescending eyebrows – and he definitely couldn't talk to Alenko. So he sighed hugely and brought his forehead to rest on his workbench.

"I didn't go well," he said.

"What, did you kiss her without permission again?"

James wished to God that he'd kept that bit to himself. This time, he'd said nothing.

Estaban let out a low whistle. "You have heard that definition for insanity, right? Doing the same thing twice and expecting a different result?"

"Oh, it was a different result," said James, groaning.

He didn't have to look at his friend to picture those pretty blues going wide. "You didn't -?"

"What? No!" James stood up and levelled a glare at the other man. "C'mon, man, I may want Shepard like a snow cone in the Sahara, but I'm still a gentleman." He paused. "Sorta." He ran a hand over his hair. "We basically… She didn't… With the… It's just complicated, you know? The timing sucks, for one."

"True, that."

Now, James was letting the needle bite into his back in an attempt to push back the hurricane of mixed emotions that roiled in his belly. Estaban hadn't had much to offer other than some liquid comfort, and James couldn't really blame the guy. He could count the number of guys who'd tried to court their COs on, well, no fingers because he was the only one stupid enough to try. He was going to use this shore leave to try and screw his head back on properly.

"James?"

Shepard's voice caused him to jolt slightly, making the batarian behind him (batarian, ha, he never thought he'd see the day) growl in annoyance. Opening his eyes, James decided to try and play it cool, even though Shepard was looking at him like he'd just decided to start that stripping career Scars had mentioned.

"Commander," he greeted, choosing to err on the side of respectful. "Didn't expect to see you down here."

"I could say the same," she said, staring.

"Well, after our little chat," he started, and then seeing her snap to attention, he held up his hands, "you know, the one about the N7 program? Well, I decided to make it official. For me, at least."

"By getting a tattoo," she said, and though there was the slightest hint of a question, he could see she understood.

"Yeah. I know sometimes it seems like I don't take things seriously but, when I commit? I fully commit." He couldn't quite meet her eyes as he said this, but he let his vehemence speak for itself. After a few moments, he managed to peel his gaze up from the floor and found her studying him. It wasn't sexual, and he almost wished it was. That soft look on her face was a million times harder to ignore because he knew that he was one of the select few who'd ever received it.

Shepard snapped out of it and crossed her arms, looking away and nodding vaguely. "I can believe that." She licked her lips. "I was just down here doing some Spectre business," she said, unnecessarily. "But I have to go. I'm supposed to be meeting Joker for dinner."

"Should I be jealous?" James cursed himself the second the words were out.

Raising one eyebrow at him, the corner of her mouth twitching, she tilted her head. "I'm not sure. Maybe. We're going someplace very upscale. Maybe he intends to propose." Now the smile was realized. "Though I doubt it, considering he has a girlfriend who could pound him into mush if she wanted." She glanced at the clock on her omni-tool. "I should get going." She started to leave, but swung around, walking backwards. "You know, that's going to sting for a few days. You going to be ready for duty?"

"Always," he assured her, then grinned at her. "Hey, maybe we should get matching."

That stopped her short. "You want me to get an N7 tattoo?" She looked past him, looked at something he couldn't see, brows stringing together. "I had one, once, but… well, you know." She shrugged slightly and offered him that soft smile again. "Great minds think alike, right?"

"That's either a huge compliment for me, or kind of an insult for you, Shepard," he said.

She waggled her finger at him. "Uh uh. You're N7. That means you've proven you've got both." Her omni-tool pinged and she shook her head. "Look, Joker's getting impatient. I'll see you later, okay?"

He couldn't help it. He watched her walk away, only barely managing to keep himself from groaning. The batarian behind him chuckled but said nothing, and it was a damn good thing too, because James didn't want to hear all the things he was thinking said aloud.

Three quarters of an hour later, he was admiring his new tat – fully healed, thanks to medigel – when his tool pinged. Joker came over the comm, asking him to get his ass to the attached address, it's urgent, don't waste any time and even though his voice was as cool as a cucumber, there's something underneath. He gave the batarian his credits and took off running.

At any other time, he'd take in the swanky apartment, but now he just followed the sound of voices until he found Shepard seated at a table, slumped over in a robe and drying her short hair with a towel. She glanced up at him as he entered, and he didn't see any injuries on her. There was a woman next to her – a jumpy, flighty, attractive thing – who he didn't recognize.

"What's going on?"

All attention turned to Shepard, who cleared her throat and managed to be simultaneously sheepish and annoyed. "I was attacked at the restaurant."

"And then," called Joker, "she used her brittle-boned pilot as _bait_ to get out of there. This was right before karma kicked her in the ass for deceiving her loyal companion, and she fell through the aquarium floor and trashed a whole light display."

Shepard leaned around James to get a clear line of sight. "I already apologized."

"As _bait_, Shepard."

Sighing, she tossed her towel onto the side of the table and looked up at James. "So, having a relaxing shore leave?"

James wasn't having any of that. "Who attacked you?"

"Don't know," said Shepard, "though Brooks and Liara are currently working on solving that particular mystery." She inclined her head towards the two women.

He started to step forward and then stopped himself, something that wasn't unnoticed by Shepard. All of the sudden, he didn't know what to do with his hands, so he crossed his arms. "You okay?"

"Oh please," she said. "Like some two-bit mercs are going to take me down. In case you've forgotten, I stared down a Reaper a few days ago and _won_." She chewed on her lip. "I'm more curious about who's behind this and, well, why now? The obvious choice would be Cerberus, but this doesn't feel like their style. If there's a new player, I want to know who it is."

"I think I can help you with that," says Doc, and pulled up some message from a guy named Kahn getting angry at some other part and yadda yadda, James didn't really listen because he was too busy looking at Shepard. Of course, the second her eyes came up, he pretended he was doing nothing of the sort. Slowly, it was agreed that Shepard would have to infiltrate some high rolling party, and she looked less than thrilled about the prospect.

"You mean I have to wear a dress?" complained Shepard, slumping over the table, and suddenly the day was looking up for James, who remembered that small, blue number she wore once while in prison.

"It's not so bad," said Sparks. "You looked nice in the one Kasumi bought you that one time." Unsaid went the words, _that you never wore again_.

"Fighting in a dress is not my idea of a good time," countered Shepard, getting to her feet.

"Then it's a good thing there won't be a lot – or hopefully any – combat this time," said Doc, shutting down her lights display. "Now you just have to decide who you're taking with you."

Nearly a dozen eyes turned to look at Shepard, and James had never seen her more frazzled. She skimmed over all of them, pausing only a fraction of a second long on him – long enough for his blood to beat a little bit faster – before she sighed heavily. "Liara, you're with me. I'm going to need all the help I can get."

A small smile unfurled on Doc's face. "What, you don't want me around for my company?"

Shepard looked positively harassed and righted herself with the most dignity she could manage. "I," she said, "am going to get ready. I need to order a dress from the extranet and make myself look like I belong in high society. Feel free to hang out here guys." She waved a hand at them and disappeared out of the room.

"Well, I'm starving," said Joker. "My last attempt to get food ended up with me playing bait. Anyone want to go get something?" Almost everyone murmured agreement, except for Doc who already seemed to be putting all her plans together.

James waffled. On one hand, he definitely didn't want to miss a chance to see Shepard in a dress and she might need someone to, ah, bounce ideas with. On the other hand, his stomach _was_ rumbling, and there really was no good reason for him to stay. Joker was waiting for his response, and it was his smug little smile that finally tipped the scales in James' head.

"I could use some grub," he said.

Man, was it difficult trying to be personable while thinking of Shepard in her apartment. He didn't doubt that she could take care of herself – today was just another example of that – but he didn't like the thought of her being caught off guard either. If anyone noticed his short temper, they didn't say anything. They perused the Silversun Strip for a bit, but it wasn't really James' scene except for the combat arena, but even that wasn't getting his adrenaline going today.

He was in a shop with Scars and Sparks, picking up mods and putting them back down again when the former suddenly appeared at his shoulder. "Having fun?"

"Oh, uh, yeah," lied James.

"_Right_," said Scars. "Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to come secure Shepard's apartment with me, but if you're too busy…"

Oh, this turian was a sneaky bastard. James had spent enough time around him by now to know that that weird mandible twitch was his version of a smirk. Crossing his arms, James said, "Oh, you just wait. The second I have some dirt on you, a certain turian is going to have a fun time on the extranet."

"So you're saying there's dirt, then?" inquired Garrus. "Looks like I owe Tali some credits."

"I – you – are we going or not?" James didn't wait for Garrus to answer, wheeling out of the store with entirely too much gusto. If people hadn't known how he felt about Shepard, he was doing a piss poor job of hiding it now.

Part of him, usually the part that made stupid decisions and got into drunken brawls, was saying, who cares if people know? Shepard's an amazing soldier, and more importantly, an amazing woman. This time last year, he would never have imagined that he'd have ever kissed Shepard, never mind fallen in love with her. She was _Commander Shepard_, and he'd idolized her with a fervor usually reserved for Jesus or the contenders during election time. But that was, well, before. Now he saw Kayleigh Shepard first, and Commander Shepard second.

When they entered the apartment, Doc was already waiting and wearing one of those long dresses asari seemed to favour. James couldn't help himself at wondering about asari beauty regimens, and if they took anywhere as long as human women to get ready.

She smiled at them. "Back already?"

"We wanted to make sure you and Shepard had some muscle on hand if things went south," said Garrus, "and since I have experience holding back a mercenary force in an apartment not dissimilar to this, well, I thought I could be of assistance. Oh, and I'm sure Jimmy here would help too."

"Anyone ever tell you you're an ass, Vakarian?" said James.

"I'm pretty sure I've said it on occasion."

Later, James would realize that this was a scene out of every cheesy film he'd ever been forced to watch, but at the time, his jaw was too busy hitting the ground. Shepard hadn't done much with herself, but that short red dress she wore combined with that slight makeup made her look more feminine than he'd ever seen her. He couldn't decide if he was turned on or weirded out that this was the same woman who put on armour and charged into battle.

He was leaning towards the former.

Shepard, on the other hand, didn't look pleased. Even though she was smokin' hot, with a red dress that clung and flared in _all _the right places, she looked like she'd rather be just about anywhere else. She stomped down the stairs and glowered at nobody in particular.

"I have nowhere to put my gun," she groused.

"Planning on shooting up the gala, Shepard?" asked Scars.

"Well, no," admitted Shepard, "but I wasn't really planning on falling through a fish tank today either."

Doc's omni-tool sprang to life and she read over a message. "We're going to have to pick up Brooks on the way."

"Yeah, fine," said Shepard, sounding as enthused as she would if someone just told her she needed to re-file her income taxes.

They were almost out the door when James called to her, "Hey, Lola, if you do any dancing, make sure that you take a vid or something. At this rate, I'm never going to see it!"

She threw him the finger over her shoulder and left. He and Scars took to making sure there was nothing suspicious about the apartment, and man, did it require a _lot _of research. They investigated the fridge, the poker table, the vid screens – all of which took a good few hours, because hey, if you're going to investigate, you might as well be thorough about the whole thing.

They knew Shepard was on her way back when everyone else started showing up. Shepard, Brooks and Doc came back shortly thereafter and informed them that their best lead was dead and that EDI had decrypted the files they'd lifted. They were headed to the archives, though God knew why, and James could see that the whole situation was making Shepard uneasy. She was no detective, and more often than not in his experience, people who wanted her dead tended to be pretty open about it.

"I'm taking James and Wrex on point," she said. "Everybody else will divide into teams. Let's take down this son of a bitch."

Of course, none of them expected a goddamned Shepard-clone to be behind the whole thing. It was like something out of a bad science fiction vid, and James was rapidly starting to understand why the crew was totally nonplussed about shit like rachni and Prothean machines. Shepard kept it together through the mission, though there were lines around her face that he hadn't seen before. She was thrumming like a live wire, and he didn't know if it was from hatred or something else. Knowing her, there were probably a million and five thoughts flying through that pretty head of hers, and knowing her, he'd probably only ever get to hear about one or two, if that.

He didn't see her snap until they were trapped in the vault, staring at the clone and that bitch Brooks on the other side of the force field. Shepard's hands were clenched at her sides, eyes downcast, hidden by hair just long enough now to cover her eyes.

"The minute, the second I get out of here, I'm going to take your head and mount it in the _Normandy_ CIC," said Shepard, and when she finally raised her face, James had to will himself not to take a step back. It was like when Cerberus had invaded the Citadel, only somehow more jagged, like back then she'd been a knife ready to carve out Cerberus' heart and now she was a broken bottle, ready to maim. She gestured to Brooks. "Then, I'm going to mount her head next to yours. Then I'm going to take both your heads and space them out the airlock."

"That might be frightening if it were Commander Shepard saying that… but it's not, not anymore," said Brooks, but though she talked big, there was part of her (the smart part) that wasn't sure.

Shepard took a step forward so that her nose was practically touching the force field. "Oh, you're sadly mistaken if you think she's anywhere near as dangerous as I am, Brooks. I fired my first gun at twelve. Built my first bomb at fourteen. Killed my first man at fifteen. There's no record of this shit, so I'll forgive you for being ignorant, but I learned two lessons real fast back on Earth: how to survive, and how to get payback." She smiled, but it was more a baring of her teeth.

In the end, the clone and Brooks proved themselves to be idiots and Shepard proved why she always came out on top: she was always three steps ahead of everybody else. In the space of minutes where Glyph worked to free them, Shepard's face melted back from rage and into its usual steely resolve.

Wrex cleared his throat. "So, fifteen huh? Not surprised. What was he, a merc? Rival?"

"I don't want to talk about it Wrex," said Shepard in a tone that brokered no argument.

James knew better than anyone that Shepard's past wasn't daisies chains and cupcakes, but he'd never imagined Shepard as, well, as a gangster. He'd never really imagined what it meant for her to grow up on the streets, and what sort of life she'd had. Yeah, he'd figured it would've been hard, but he wondered how much she held back because she wanted to protect them from the depressing nature of her childhood and how much she held back because she was trying to pretend it didn't happen.

The rest of the fight (getting to the _Normandy_, fighting for the _Normandy_, and taking out that son of a bitch clone), Shepard fought like a woman possessed. It was clear that whoever had trained the clone had trained her to mirror Shepard's fighting style, but nobody can train genius, and Shepard's tactical and tech skills far outstripped those of her counterpart's. And even though it was ridiculous, even though this whole fucking scenario was batshit crazy, he couldn't help the surge of pride he felt towards her, because what her clone and Brooks seemed to forget in this whole scenario was _Kayleigh_.

So he was totally on board when Shepard shoved the clone off the edge of the _Normandy_, and he was almost ready to cheer when she popped not one but six rounds into Brooks after the backstabbing bitch started to get uppity. He grinned at Shepard, expecting a smile or a sigh of relief in return, but she just looked worn thin. She gave them their orders and wandered off.

After shedding his armour, it took him and Estaban the whole evening and the next morning to clear up the mess they'd made of the shuttle bay, with the pilot complaining the whole way. By the time they were done, James realized he hadn't seen Shepard even once in all that time and, throwing Estaban an obscene gesture when the guy smirked, he hopped in the elevator to make sure she was okay. He punched the number for her cabin.

"Shepard is not currently aboard the _Normandy_," said EDI. "She left for her new apartment twenty minutes ago. She stated that she did not wish to be disturbed. Would you like to choose a new destination instead?"

"Uh, take me to the CIC, I guess," said James, mind somersaulting over the events of the day. Was it smart to follow Shepard? Probably not, but when had James ever been accused of being smart?

He rang her buzzer for what felt like forever before she let him up. She wasn't in the living room, or the kitchen, or the bar. He climbed the stairs slowly and found her in the master bedroom, back to the door, staring at her hands.

"Hey, Lola, you okay?"

"It's not that I regret my time on Earth," said Shepard suddenly, though it sounded like she was the teensiest bit too defensive for him to really believe that, "but… Sometimes I wonder if I've moved on from that person. I went straight from the streets to the Alliance because I couldn't see another way out. What does it say about me that both my life plans involved me putting bullets into other people?"

"Probably the same thing it says about me," said James.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "The people I used to run with, the shit I did… I can't imagine you getting involved with anything like that, not ever."

"Shepard…"

"She wanted so badly to be me," said Shepard, voice tinny, "and she didn't even know what that meant. For all her talk about the cult of Shepard, she was even worse. Did she even try to look up who I was before I was the Commander?" She dropped her head into her hands.

James wasn't sure he was exactly the right person to be talking to about this, since he spent a large portion of his Alliance career being Shepard's number one fanboy. Still, he couldn't just walk away, so he sat himself on the edge of the bed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"It doesn't matter, Lola," said James, squeezing his arm around her. "It doesn't matter who you were then. Look at what you're accomplishing now! You want to know what I saw in the _Normandy _shuttle bay today? The difference between Kayleigh and people's skewed notion of Commander Shepard."

Shepard relaxed slightly, leaning back against him. She turned her body slightly so that her head came to rest on his shoulder, and James had to force his heartbeat out of his throat. "You're always here when I need you, James. Honestly, it's getting a little annoying. I don't like relying on anybody else, and I especially don't like it when I seem to be doing all the taking."

"The next time my clone comes to kill us all, you can comfort me afterwards, okay?" That earns him a slight smile and all he wants to do is kiss it off her face. "Besides, it's not like I mind." There was a long silence between them that James wanted to fill. He nudged her. "Hey, you want to go take out some Cerberus drones in the combat sim?"

That brightened her disposition considerably. "Hell yeah, I do – but can we get some food first? I haven't had anything except protein bars since before I killed the sushi restaurant."

"Yeah, sure, whatever you want." James stood up and offered her his hand. She considered it for a space of seconds before accepting and he definitely wasn't imagining it when she kept their hands entwined longer than strictly necessary.

They made for the stairs. There was a short pause before Shepard said, with as much hesitancy as he'd ever seen, "Just so we're clear.. This isn't a date, James. I've – I've made my position on romantic entanglements pretty clear."

Aw man, she couldn't even let a guy dream? "Yeah, no, Lola, I got it. Just an a friendly afternoon outing. Between friends. Yeah."

"Good," she said and paused on the step in front of him, throwing a killer smile over her shoulder. "Then there will be no hard feelings when I kill all the goons in the sim. Boom! Headshot."

James frowned at her, and did his best to make it stick. "Says the woman who _hides_ when things get dicey. I bet you wouldn't get half of those kills without your tactical cloak."

Her eyebrows touched her hairline. "Oh really? Care for a friendly wager, LT?"

"You bet your ass," countered James, then immediately shoved his foot into his mouth at her slackjawed smile.

"I'm afraid that's not an option. I was thinking more… two hundred credits?"

"Two _hundred_?"

"You're an N7 now, James," she said, tone marginally less teasing and slightly more proud. "We play to win."

The artificial sunlight was streaming through her giant windows, catching those few strands of gold in her dark hair and palming its way down her face. Her smile was beautiful, especially in light of the last… Well, since he'd known her, really, and he'd done that. He'd helped create that smile and Jesus Christ, if his old squad could see him fawning over Shepard now, making the punch lines of all their jokes a reality, he'd be done for. Instead, he answered her smile with one of his own and, though he knew he shouldn't, said, "Don't worry Lola, that's the only way I play."

She nodded her head in approval and started back down the stairs. "Good."

Only, he wasn't talking about the combat sim or even the war anymore.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Shepard goes from being furious with the asari to furious with herself as both she and James try to deal with the reality of Thessia.


End file.
